


Paternal

by HotMolasses



Series: An Irrevocable Becoming [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Fatherhood, Graphical murder depicted, Gratuitous Hannigram Smut throughout, M/M, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, Violence, child committing murder, murder as foreplay, no Abigail, original female child character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6081192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotMolasses/pseuds/HotMolasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After ten years of living happily married in the French countryside, Will and Hannibal couldn't be more satisfied.  Living with each other, having material wealth, and being able to murder without suspicion once again has given them the life they've always wanted.  Until, while consulting on a murder case for the Paris police, they discover another like Hannibal- a murderer who has started killing while still a child.</p><p>Instantly becoming protective of her, Will seeks her out and brings her into their life, even though he has reservations about his reasons for doing so.  Is it only to fill the hole left in his heart by Abigail?  Is fatherhood still something he truly desires?  Or will bringing this child in to their life expose who they are, and end this perfect life they've built together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Satisfying Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a sequel to this: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5557010/chapters/12817937 
> 
> though it's not essential to have read that to enjoy this one. This story can stand on its own.
> 
> The reason that I wrote this was solely because of the encouragement and lovely comments that I got on the first one. I don't believe this story has the same flavor, however, but I still hope you enjoy!

Will and Hannibal strolled down the streets of Paris, arm-in-arm, Will’s head resting wistfully on Hannibal’s shoulder.  It was February, a light snow fluttering down to sparkle in the streetlights, giving everything an otherworldly, ethereal glow. 

              “It was a lovely performance, Will.” Hannibal said, his voice full of adoration.  “A beautiful Valentine’s gift.”

              Will smiled softly, his eyes half-closed as he allowed Hannibal to guide him down the street.  More and more lights became broken as they walked, the streets darker, the people on them less pleasant.  They both continued to walk, smitten Valentine’s lovers dressed in fancy coats and expensive shoes, the snow falling on their hair in little flecks of white crystal.

              They looked vulnerable.  Which was the best way to draw prey to you, when you were hunting.

              “I knew you wouldn’t want to miss a visit from the New York Philharmonic.” he said, in perfect French, having spoken it consistently for nearly ten years, now. “Considering we can never go there in person.”

              “Thoughtful as always.” Hannibal said, giving his hand a light squeeze, his eyes darting to the young man hiding in the shadows of the alley ahead of them.  Hannibal tensed just a hair, just enough to let Will know it was time.

              The young man leapt from the alley brandishing a folding knife.  His hand shook and his eyes had deep rings under them.  A drug addict.  Not good meat.

              “Hand over all your money,   _pédés._ ”

              Hannibal tsked and shook his head.

              “You’re holding that knife incorrectly.” he said.  The young man stared at Hannibal, squinting his eyes as his withdrawal-ridden brain tried to comprehend this unanticipated response.

              “You should be holding it with your thumb on top, since it’s your strongest finger.” Will said, letting go of Hannibal and reaching into his pocket.  He pulled out his favorite knife; a beautiful Marfione that Hannibal had given him for their last wedding anniversary, which he flipped open so quickly it could be mistaken for a switch blade, even wearing his thick leather gloves.  He demonstrated a proper hold, the eyes of the teenager glued to his hand and to the blade in it.

              “See?  If you hold it the way you are, thumb down, it can be easily knocked from your grip.”

              Hannibal’s hand came quickly down on the boy’s wrist, causing his knife to clatter to the sidewalk.  He stepped back, afraid, eyes wide with fear.

              “I’m sorry.” he said, terror in his voice.  He tried to take another step back, but Hannibal was behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders.  Will bent down and picked up his knife.  He put it back in the boy’s hand, who stared with confusion, his fingers not closing around it.

              “Hold it.” Will commanded, and the boy’s fingers wrapped nervously around the blade.  “Yes, exactly.  Like this.” Will said, standing beside him, holding out his own knife, demonstrating the proper way to hold it.  The boy watched him, then copied him, twisting his wrist until he had a pretty good imitation of Will’s form.

              “That’s it.  Much better.” he said.  “Now when you threaten someone , hold it straight out in front of you, where you have the best leverage.  Keep your elbow bent slightly, so you’ll have force behind it when you use it.”

              “Geeze, I wasn’t going to actually _cut_ anybody with it!” the boy shouted, nervous.  “I just needed some cash!”

              Will sighed, and Hannibal let go of his shoulders.

              “Right, of course.” Will said.  Hannibal turned in front of him and pulled out his wallet.

              “Is this just for a fix, or did you need it for anything else?” Hannibal asked, pulling out wads of cash.  The boy stared at them in utter disbelief, still holding the knife in front of him the way Will had shown him.

              “Uh…um…I could use some…rent?”

              “Here you go.” Hannibal said, handing him a thousand Euros.  “That should get you somewhere warm.”

              The boy took it, eyes as wide as they could go.  Hannibal offered his elbow to Will and he slipped his hand around it, and they stepped past the boy to keep walking.

              “How…how do I thank you?” he asked, his voice wavering in the darkness.

              “When you see reports of a murder in this area tomorrow, you never saw us.” Hannibal said cheerfully.  “Or we will come back and make you be quiet.”

              They turned the corner, hearing a little whimper from the boy and his footfalls as he ran as fast as he could in the other direction, a sad, wistful smile on Will’s lips.

              “Tell me your thoughts, Will.” Hannibal said.

              “I miss Abigail.” he replied.  He saw the twinge of regret flash across Hannibal’s face.  He didn’t say it often.  He said it far less often than he felt it.  He didn’t enjoy reminding Hannibal that he was any cause of pain for Will, even if it was old pain, even if he was long forgiven.

              “It is only natural for a person to wish to share their knowledge with the next generation.” Hannibal said.  “Even if that next generation is a street addict who won’t fully appreciate it.”

              Will sighed and leaned his head back on Hannibal’s shoulder.  They walked another few blocks, before they came upon a group of three men standing on the corner, all smoking together outside an apartment door that was open, the light from inside spilling down onto the sidewalk.

              One of them snickered as they walked up to them, and the stopped.

              “Pardon me, but you two don’t look like you’re much interested in ladies.”

              The other two snorted a laugh.

              “Oh, is that all you have to offer?” Hannibal asked politely.  The three of them looked at each other and back to Hannibal and Will.  The one who spoke stood up taller, and stepped towards them.

              “We offer a lot of things.  What are you fine gentleman looking for, in this part of town?  Boys, perhaps?  We don’t have any at the moment, but we could find some for you.”

              “Actually, you’ll do just fine.” Hannibal said.  He removed his gloves and shoved them into the pockets of his coat, which he then also removed.  The men stared in amusement and slight confusion as Will did the same, both of them placing their coats down over the rail along the steps that led up into the apartment. 

              Before the man had enough time to process what was happening, Hannibal brought his fist to the side of the man’s temple, perfectly placed to knock him out cold, instantly.  He crumpled to the sidewalk, his companions moving into fighting stances too late.  The first one was met with Will’s blade to his throat, slicing it cleanly open, blood spraying over his fine Italian suit, though he was careful to keep it from his face.  The third one tried to run inside, Hannibal’s arms wrapping tightly around his neck, squeezing his throat closed.  As he gasped for air, Will plunged his blade into his stomach, giving three well-placed stabs that were fatal even through the thick layers of cloth the man wore.

              Hannibal released him, and he fell to his knees, where Will sliced his throat open for good measure, as well.  The arterial spray covered the white snow on the sidewalk with red, melting it, droplets of red and pink rivers running down into the gutter.  There was a reason they always wore black pants.

              Not even panting, the pair walked back to their coats and put them back on, along with their gloves, hiding all the blood that was on them from any prying eyes. Will folded his knife and slipped it into his pocket, while Hannibal sifted through their unconscious prey’s pockets, finding his wallet.

              “Jean Lefevre.” he said, reading his driver’s license.  “We would love to have you for dinner.” he said, and he knelt down to throw him over his shoulder.  They walked a few blocks, back towards a better part of the city, until their footprints no longer turned the snow red, and called a cab.

              “Our friend has had a bit too much to drink.” Hannibal stated, and the cabbie gave them a humorous smile as he drove them to where they asked- a block from where their car was parked.  Hannibal gave him a modest tip, not so much that they would be remembered amongst all the other drunk passengers the cabbie would pick up that night.

              They tossed Jean into the back seat and drove out into the countryside.  When they had gone far enough to be away from anyone who might see, they pulled over and transferred him to the trunk, then continued their drive towards one of their many properties in the country—the places they always went for romantic retreats, or so they told their domestic staff.

              “A lovely hunt.” Hannibal said, as Will pulled out a towel from the glovebox and began to clean his knife.  He didn’t want it to rust.

              “It was enjoyable.” he said.  Hannibal turned to look at him briefly, before putting his eyes back on the road.

              “You are disappointed.”

              Will sighed. 

              “Not about the kill.  It _was_ lovely.” he said. 

              “About the boy.”

              Will sighed heavily, guilt making its way up his stomach and into his throat.

              “It felt nice, for a moment.  To be teaching someone.”

              Hannibal took a hand off the wheel and placed it over the back of Will’s.  His touch was reassuring, gentle, and full of love, and Will relaxed back into his seat as they enjoyed the drive into the country, the sounds of a screaming man pounding on the trunk behind them.


	2. Consultation

“Did you see the paper this morning?” Hannibal asked as he flipped the eggs and pork in the frying pan.  They had staff for cleaning their enormous house and taking care of the grounds, but Hannibal, of course, always did the cooking.  And the grocery shopping.

              They both supplied meat for the table, however.

              Will picked up the paper and started to read, munching on Jean as he looked for whatever article Hannibal had been referring to.

              “Mmmm.” he said.  “The pork is exquisite.”

              Hannibal couldn’t hide the delight from his face.  Ten years of feeding Will had not dulled the enjoyment for him even a little bit.

              “What are you going to make with the rest of him?” Will asked in English.  When they had first moved to France, Hannibal had hired staff that knew English, so that Will could speak to them.  But once he became fluent, Hannibal changed the help to those who couldn’t speak a word of it—giving them a way to have their more sensitive conversations without fear of being overheard.

              “Sausage and bacon.  It will take a few weeks to cure the meat long enough, but then I assure you, breakfast will be even more delicious.”

              Will nodded his approval, turning the page of the newspaper, when he finally saw the article Hannibal must have been talking about.

              GRUESOME MURDER SCENE LEAVES VICTIM WITH NO SKIN

              “Hmm.” Will said.  “Seems we have company.”

              “Indeed it does.” Hannibal said, sitting across the breakfast table from Will, cutting into his own fried pork.  “I was thinking you might like to go visit the crime scene with me, later.”

              Will laughed again. 

              “Are we being consulted?”

              Hannibal smiled.

              “We are.”

              It still amused Will to no end that Hannibal had managed to weasel himself back into the good graces of the local police department- this time the Prefecture of Police in Paris.  Despite their multiple outstanding warrants for _horrific_ crimes in the United States, Hannibal had managed to convince the chief of police that it was all false accusations; he and Will had been framed by the FBI because they were at a loss for catching the _real_ killers, and because of Will’s ability to think so accurately like murderers, he had become an easy target.

              Hannibal, of course, was back in the esteemed world of psychiatry, though he no longer saw patients --   _no one would ever be able to compare to you, Will_ ,--  and instead did lecturing at universities and consulted on police cases.

              They finished their breakfast, got dressed, and headed down to the crime scene, where French Jack, as Will called him, was waiting for them. 

              “Arthur.” Hannibal said, waving in that dorky manner he did only when he was trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.  Will tried not to laugh.

              “Ah!  Messieurs Lecter.” he said, shaking first Hannibal’s hand, then Will’s.  “I do appreciate your coming, even though it is a Saturday.  I hate to interrupt your weekend…”

              “Really, it is no trouble at all.” Hannibal said, keeping his cheerfulness to a non-creepy level.  “We are happy to help in any way we can to stop monsters such as these.”

              Will was used to situations like this, but he still internally chuckled.

              “Well we owe you a debt of gratitude.” Arthur said.  “Please, this way.”

              He led them behind the police tape and into a run-down apartment building, lab techs with cameras taking fingerprints and swabs along the stairs, hoping that the murderer had perhaps touched the banister.  He led them down a typical Parisian narrow hallway, and into a neatly kept, but still small and cheaply furnished apartment.

              They entered the bedroom, where there lay a body, completely skinned.  The muscles were intact, the body positioned carefully on the bed, on top of a plastic sheet where most of the blood pooled, though some had dripped over the edges onto the floor.  Lab techs were busy numbering the drops and taking photos.

              “Fascinating.” Hannibal said, taking in the scene.  Will remained silent, his mind occupied already by the sight before him, his heart starting to race with anticipation at being able to dive into the mind of another like himself.  It used to terrify him.

              Now he loved it.

              “You know that Will requires privacy for what he does.” Hannibal reminded.

              “Yes, yes.  Though your methods are very unorthodox, I can’t argue with success.” Arthur said.  With Will and Hannibal’s help, Arthur had one of the best success rates of any detective in Paris.  He was _far_ more polite about their help than Jack had ever been, however; even accepting their answer of _no_ on the few occasions they had been inclined to give it.

              “Clear the room, everyone.” Arthur shouted, ushering everyone out.  He turned to them and smiled.  “Good luck.”

              He shut the door, and Will was alone.

              Well, alone except for Hannibal.  But Hannibal was acceptable company.

              He closed his eyes and let the pendulum drop.

              The evidence cards disappeared, followed by the blood, and the skin un-cut itself, reassembling onto the body.  The body rose, and stood, and became a woman, alive and blonde.  She was terrified, and became more alert as a needle was removed from her neck.  The plastic was removed from the bed and folded neatly.  She walked in reverse, exiting the room, becoming less and less distraught as she walked backwards into her living room, where she had been watching TV.

              “I knock on the front door.” Will said, aloud.  He no longer had to keep his narratives to himself.  Hannibal enjoyed listening, and Will loved having him hear it.  Loved being able to _share his mind_ , the most intimate and deepest part of himself, with his love.

              “She’s not expecting anyone, but neither is she concerned.  She looks through the peephole and whatever she sees, it makes her open the door.  She doesn’t know me, but she trusts me.  I have a ruse.” he said.  “A repairman.  She leads me, willingly, into her bedroom.  She suspects nothing out of the ordinary until I begin laying the plastic sheet down on the bed.  She looks at me strangely, then. 

              My face must give me away, because she becomes afraid.  She tries to run, but I already have my needle out.  I insert it into her neck.  She is unconscious within seconds

              I gently catch her as she falls, and lay her down on the bed, on the plastic.  I remove her clothes, not as a sexual act, but because they are in my way…”

              Will opens his eyes and walks towards the far corner of the room, where he sees her clothes in a heap on the floor.

              “I dump her clothes quickly, nothing more than an inconvenience.  I then get to work.”

              He imagines himself crawling up onto the bed, hovering over her body, and allows himself to _enjoy_ it.  Allows himself to smile, and take pleasure in the act.

              “I take out my favorite knife.” he says.  “No; scalpel.  Knives are too dull.  I need to make precise, perfect cuts.  I can’t waste an _inch_ of the material.  I start with the scalp.  I remove it.  I place her hair into a plastic bag, and then begin working on the rest of her.  I am very, very careful not to damage her face.  That is the most important part.  Then I make as few slices as possible, hand absolutely steady.  I am sure and practiced in my work.  I remove the material perfectly, cutting it away to preserve it.

              I peel her naked, until I have what is important to me, separated from the useless flesh that will only rot.  I carefully fold my raw material into my cooler, to keep the material fresh.  She is now perfect, preserved, and ready.  This is my design.”

              Will opened his eyes to find himself still standing where he’d begun, near the foot of the bed, Hannibal by his side.  He turned to look at him and their eyes met, burning adoration in Hannibal’s.

              “My favorite form of theater.” he whispered softly.  The corner of Will’s mouth upticked a little higher than he’d intended, and then Hannibal’s lips were upon his, moaning softly into him, drinking his words, inhaling his scent.  Will melted into his touch, wrapping his arms around his back, opening his mouth hungrily to try to get more of Hannibal into him.  When Hannibal slid his tongue inside him Will sucked it in, eager to be consumed, to have Hannibal take the other murderer’s words from his mouth and taste them.

              The pulled apart, cheeks flushed, slightly panting. 

              “You are so beautiful when you wear the skin of another.” Hannibal said.  Will elbowed his rib.

              “You’re such a dork when you make puns.”

              Hannibal smiled.

              Will turned and opened the door.  Arthur was waiting just outside it.  He raised his eyes from the report he was reading expectantly.

              “He’s preserving the skin.  He takes it fully intact, with as few incisions as possible, without any tears, almost as if…he’s going to put it back together again.  The face and hair are very important to him.  I think…I think he’s putting them on display.  On models.  Perhaps a taxidermist.” he said.

              “…them?” Arthur asked.  Will nodded.

              “Oh, he’s done this before.”

              Arthur stared, his face getting a bit paler.

              “Then why haven’t we found any other bodies like this?”

              Will shrugged.

              “Perhaps he hasn’t done it in France before.” he said.  “Or previously, he disposed of the bodies.  Maybe he meant to dispose of this one too, and was interrupted.  It doesn’t make sense to put down plastic to protect the bed, as if to try not to leave evidence behind, and then to just leave the body here.”

              Arthur wrote all this down furiously on his pad, nodding, listening. 

              Will ticked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as they darted around the room.  He absently ran his fingers along a bookshelf, his eyes scanning over the contents: a photo of the victim and her friends eating ice cream, a sculpture of an angel, a souvenir from Spa Malvont.

              “What did the victim do for a living?” Will asked.  Arthur flipped back through his notes hurriedly, still trying to write down everything Will had told him.

              “She was a…waitress, at...” he said.  “La Chatte Rouge.”

              Will shook his head, dismissing that.

              “He has to inspect the skin before he knows whether he wants it.  But he didn’t have the young lady strip in the apartment.  He already knew she was perfect.”

              Arthur stopped writing in his notebook and looked up at Will, waiting to hear his insight; hungry for his words, though not in the insatiable way Jack used to be.  Will waited while Arthur digested what he said, and was pleasantly surprised when he was able to follow his train of thought.

              “He’s seen her skin before.” he said.  Will nodded.

              “Yes, all of it, but remember, she didn’t know him.”

              An imperceptible smirk ticked at the corner of Hannibal’s lips and then vanished, all from his amusement at watching Will toy with Arthur, making him work for the answers Will already had inside his mind.

              “She had a souvenir from a visit to Spa Malvont.” Will said.  “And where else better to hunt for perfect skin, than in a career where the customers are putting it on display?”

              Hannibal smiled and reached over to caress his fingers through Will’s hair.

              “Your mind never ceases to astound me, Will.” he said softly.  Arthur ignored that; he was used to the two of them, and seemed to have no issue with how affectionate they were towards each other, even in public sometimes.

                             “He was interrupted.” Will said.  “He didn’t get everything he needs.”

              Arthur nodded, and began scribbling in his notes again.

              “So he will have to try again soon.”

              “Yes.  And now you know where he hunts.  This is how you will catch him.”

              Arthur nodded, writing and writing, his pen scrambling to get down all the golden information Will gave him.  He finally finished and looked up, his nose squinting to try to keep his glasses from sliding down his face.

              “Thank you, as always, Monsieur Lecter.” he said to Will.  “To both of you.  You are an invaluable help.”

              Hannibal’s hand ceased stroking through Will’s hair and came to rest on his shoulder instead, as Hannibal moved his face back a bit to regard Will better.

              “Always glad to help make Paris a safer place.” he said, and Will had to struggle not to snort a chuckle.  All they were doing was eliminating potential competition.

              “I will follow up on this excellent lead you’ve given me, and also start looking for other similar cases in neighboring countries.  Thank you again, gentlemen.”

              They stepped back out into the street, the warm summer breeze brushing Hannibal’s perfectly straight hair into his eyes.  He pushed it back with a finger, and Will stopped, staring at his face.

              “Yes, Will?”

              “Your skin is…so perfect.” he said.  “So flawless; not a wrinkle to be seen.  From years of keeping your expressions in check, I assume.”

              Hannibal gave Will a little smirk and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

              “Your mind is still hosting someone else.” he said, brushing his fingers behind Will’s ear.  Will’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch, his body always ready to respond to Hannibal, always eager to feel him.  He then slid his fingertips down across Will’s jaw to his chin, where he pinched it between his thumb and forefinger.  He stared directly into Will’s eyes, and Will affectionately gazed back, his eyes a bit glazed, though his face became more relaxed.

              “Don’t worry.  I will bring you back to yourself.”

 

              Will moaned as Hannibal’s naked body covered him, pressing him into their mattress.  Hannibal’s lips hungrily sucked at his neck, his hands pinning Will’s wrists above his head as Will let him do as he pleased.  Yet his eyes were still distracted; still kept wandering down Hannibal’s body, looking at his _skin_.  Though it was scarred in many places, and even had the brand of a pig farmer burned into its back, Will still saw it as perfect—no doubt his own opinion of Hannibal coloring the mind that lived inside his.

              Hannibal bit, and Will howled, the pain jarring him back from the thoughts of another. 

              “Stay with me, Will.  Don’t you wander.” Hannibal breathed in his ear.  Will trembled at his voice, so familiar, yet never dull.  Hannibal brought his mouth up to Will’s, pushing his head deep into the mattress with the force of his kisses.  He brought up a knee between Will’s legs and pushed it against Will’s balls, making him moan and shudder.

              Hannibal pulled back and stared into his eyes.

              “Who are you?”

              “Will Lecter.”

              “Where are you?”

              “Home.  France.” he said. 

              Even after ten years of marriage and in the middle of having sex, Hannibal was still, somehow, Will’s psychiatrist.

              Except he loved it now.

              Hannibal’s lips and teeth and tongue were all over him, dragging down his throat, across his chest, nipping and lapping at his nipple.  Will slid his hands down, to stroke Hannibal’s body, feel his muscles, his _perfect_ perfect skin, so smooth, covered in fine hairs…

              Hannibal bit Will’s nipple and he yelped, then moaned.

              “Stop.  Wandering.”

              Hannibal brought his knee up harder against Will’s balls and he breathed faster, spreading his legs, eager.  Hannibal brought his eyes up to meet Will’s.

              “Who are you?”

              “Will Lecter.”

              “Where are you?”

              “Home.  In our bed.”

              A smirk played across Hannibal’s lips at that.

              “Who am I?” he asked, his brown eyes boring into Will’s blue ones, pulling him out of the other killer’s mind and back to Hannibal.

              “My lover.” Will said.  Hannibal nodded once, satisfied for now, and went back to kissing his way down Will’s chest.  Will squirmed under him, and he let go of his wrists so he could move his mouth lower, down to Will’s cock.  He sucked the tip into his mouth and Will’s now free hands immediately went to tangle themselves in his hair.  He moaned, Hannibal’s lips working around Will’s sensitive head, swollen and leaking precum into Hannibal’s eager mouth. 

              He licked his tongue across the tip over and over, _tasting_ Will.  He opened his lips and sucked, only around the head, drawing more precum into his mouth, making a show of swallowing it, reminding Will of how much he enjoyed _consuming_ him.

              Will groaned from pleasure, his fingers letting go of Hannibal’s hair to wander down his neck, across his shoulders, over his back, feeling his skin.

              “So smooth, so flawless…” he whispered.  “Your skin…”

              Hannibal was up by Will’s face in an instant, growling.

              “You don’t care about my skin.” he said, his voice low and gravelly.  “You care.” he said, drawing his own wrist up to his lips, keeping his eyes locked onto Will’s.  Hannibal scraped his skin along his own teeth, pressing hard, _tearing_ that perfect skin, _ruining_ it.  Will felt tears rise to his eyes at the _atrocity_.

              “about my _blood_.” Hannibal said, pulling his wrist away, red now oozing slowly out of it.  He held it in front of Will’s face.

              “Torn…ruined…”

              Hannibal smeared the redness over Will’s cheek, above his beard.  Will felt the warm slickness, then felt the crackling sensation as the blood dried on his skin.  His eyes fluttered closed and he groaned.

              “You love blood, Will.  Not skin, but what flows beneath it.”

              He brought his wrist to Will’s lips, and he opened his mouth, sucking on the shallow wound Hannibal had created, moaning as he drank it.  Hannibal pulled it away, and Will snarled at him.

              “There you are.” Hannibal said, and Will glared.

              “Who are you.” he asked once more.

              “Will.  Lecter.”

              “Prove it.”

              With a fierce growl, Will sprang from his back, shoving Hannibal off of him and to the side.  He straddled his hips, tearing his fingernails down Hannibal’s chest, ripping the skin to get at the _blood_.  A satisfied smirk spread across Hannibal’s face as Will watched the beautiful redness spread free, staining the curled hairs on Hannibal’s chest.  He dove his face down, flattening his tongue against Hannibal’s chest, licking at it, tasting the iron, his fingers clasping tightly against Hannibal’s sides, threatening to draw blood from there, too.

              A deep smile spread across Hannibal’s face as he watched Will enjoy himself, his tongue tracing over the shallow red lines, moaning when he licked it into his mouth.

              “That’s my Will.” Hannibal purred.  Will gave him a seductive look and arched his back until he was again sitting up, his ass placed so that Hannibal’s cock slid up between his cheeks.

              Will scratched again, deeper, and Hannibal moaned under him, bucking his hips up.  Will groaned, feeling his lover’s cock push against his ass.  His head fell, his chin hitting his chest, his fingers tracing through the lines of red that oozed from Hannibal.

              “Oh, fuck, Hannibal.  Fuck me.”

              Hannibal’s smirk widened and he reached for the nightstand, dipping his fingers into the open jar of lubricant.  He slid his hands around Will’s hips to his ass, sliding his fingers up into him.  Will keened, rocking his hips back to get him in further, his fingers collecting the blood on Hannibal’s chest.    “Stop teasing.  You know how impatient I am.” he crooned, pushing his hips down to force Hannibal’s fingers deeper inside him.  Hannibal gave him a seductive look and removed his fingers, took another dip of lube, and stroked it over his own cock.  Will hardly waited for him to finish, rising his hips up to as Hannibal held his cock in place.  He bit his lower lip as he sank down, easing Hannibal into himself without restraint, enjoying the pain.  His hips finally came to rest on Hannibal’s thighs and he sighed, his chin collapsing against his chest as he felt himself adjust to Hannibal inside him.

               He brought his blood-covered fingertips to his lips and sucked each one, swallowing the tiny amounts with reverence as his eyes locked with his lover.  Hannibal hid nothing of his smile, making it very known that he enjoyed seeing Will this way; vicious and lustful.  Like the clearing of a fog, Will felt the last wisp of the mind from the crime scene leave him and he came fully back to himself.

              A twitch pulled at the corner of Will’s mouth, reminiscent of an older time, when his face used to twitch all the time as it struggled to decide which of his torn emotions to display.  Now, he allowed the twitch to grow into the smile it wanted to; the pride he felt in being able to understand the minds of killers, and the pleasure it brought him, as well.

              Will half-closed his eyes and leaned towards Hannibal, who moved is face towards him and pressed a slow, warm kiss to his lips.

              “I never would have appreciated who I am without you.” he whispered into Hannibal’s mouth.  Hannibal’s only answer was to kiss him again, and again, tasting him, drawing his lips in, never getting enough, never being sated.

              When finally he pulled away the burn of embers was in his eyes, and he lifted his hips and started to ride.  Hannibal’s fingers grabbed his ass and he pushed up into him, the two moving together with a synchroneity of practiced years.  Will closed his eyes, feeling Hannibal penetrate him, spread him open, _take_ from him while also giving him great pleasure.

              “Mmmph.” Will managed, leaning forward, his hands pressing into the mattress on either side of Hannibal’s head.

              “If you’ll excuse me.” Hannibal said, and with the force of all his muscles he flipped them, shoving Will to the side and under him while staying inside.  Will purred, his eyes falling half-closed, and Hannibal smiled down at him.

              He thrust in hard and fast then, pushing forward over and over, Will crying out from pleasure.  The bed creaked and Will’s body sang, opening up to let Hannibal in, his hands still stroking down his chest, reveling in the drying blood on his fingertips and on Hannibal’s chest.

              Hannibal drove himself deep into Will, putting force behind each thrust, his skin sweating from his efforts and his breath becoming labored.  Will closed his eyes and allowed himself to be _taken_ , knowing the beast above him, loving it, belonging to it, becoming one with it.

              “Who are you.” Hannibal whispered.

              “Yours.” Will replied, his voice cracking as Hannibal’s cock drove into him again.

              “Where are you?”

              “With you.” he said, and Hannibal’s eyes burned with fire.

              “Who am I?” he asked.

              Will’s hand came up to Hannibal’s cheek, spreading the blood over it, and his eyes blinked open between thrusts.

              “Stag.” he said.  “My beast.”

              Hannibal shuddered, losing control.  He growled and pounded into Will with intent of bruising him, leaving his mark, making him feel this for days.  His cum spread hot inside him, pulses of pleasure singing up his spine and down into his fingers which clasped at Will’s shoulders.

              Hannibal’s teeth came to Will’s neck and he bit.  Will cried out, lifting his hips to keep Hannibal inside him.

              “Take.  Consume me, Hannibal.”

              Hannibal growled and yanked himself out of Will, making him wince.  His body slithered down quickly, his mouth pulling Will’s cock into it, sucking viciously, hungrily.  Will tilted his head back, his fingers tangling in Hannibal’s hair, moaning as his cock was expertly teased and pleasured.  It didn’t take much for Hannibal to draw what he wanted out of him, the pleasure building up to overflow, Will pouring himself into Hannibal’s mouth with a cry through gritted teeth.

              Hannibal drank, eager, hungry, wanting to suck Will’s cum out of him faster than he could provide it.  Even after Will had nothing left he sucked, not wasting a single drop, savoring every second he could.

              When Will was absolutely spent, Hannibal crawled back up to him, lying beside him where they tangled in each other’s arms.

              “You are a beautiful, vicious beast.” Hannibal whispered in his ear.

              “Hmmm.” Will said, tangling his fingers through Hannibal’s hair, now wrecked and disheveled.  “What shall I call you, then?” he said.  “You make me look tame.”

              Hannibal snorted and buried his face into Will’s neck, lapping at the bite marks he’d left.

              “If only you could see yourself as I do.” he purred.  Despite having been together for so long, Will doubted that he ever would.  He certainly saw more worth in himself from having known Hannibal; but the way Hannibal looked at him- as if he were a precious, rare, valuable thing- he didn’t think he would ever see.

              “If it takes my lifetime, I will make you see how extraordinary you are.” Hannibal purred, and then they drifted off, minds on nothing but each other, Will occupied by no one but himself and Hannibal, whole and complete.


	3. Another

“I appreciate you coming, despite this not being the usual sort of thing you consult on.” Arthur said, leading Will through a crowd of reporters and on-lookers, then through a line of policemen and under crime-scene tape, then finally around a corner and into an alley.

              “We are glad to offer our services wherever you feel it may assist you.” Hannibal said, his voice as smooth and flawless as honey, the poison beneath them securely masked to everyone but Will.

              They walked behind a dumpster and found a homeless man, stabbed in both eyes, the dirty blankets and empty food containers of his habitation still strewn around him.

              “It looks like he was murdered in his sleep.” Hannibal said.  Arthur nodded.

              “Yes, we thought so as well.” he paused, his face contorted with confusion and bafflement.  “As usual, I will give you all he information we’ve discovered afterwards, yes?”

              Will nodded, and Arthur left them, leaving them alone with the body.

              Will stared, cocking his head to the side as he examined the situation. 

              “Why would Arthur ask for our consultation for what appears to be a normal mugging?  What is unusual about you?” he asked the corpse, walking in a wide circle around him.  Hannibal stayed back, delighted to watch Will work without interruption.  Will reached the head and crouched, studying the homeless man’s face, his eyes gouged out.  “Why the eyes?” he asked, as his own fluttered closed and he let the pendulum drop.

              It swung only once, so little having changed in the ally from when the man was alive to when he was dead.  All that was different was it was night now, and he breathed.

              “I walk around the corner, knife already in hand.” he said.  “I am purposeful.  I have my single goal in mind.  Though I try to maintain a steady pace, I walk faster, from excitement.  Anticipation.”

              He paused, standing beside the sleeping man.

              “I observe my prey while he sleeps for awhile, a long while.  He doesn’t move or stir; his breathing soft, gentle, methodical, just like my father, when I watch him sleeping.”

              At those words, Hannibal’s eyes opened a bit wider and he cocked his head, listening intently.

              “At home, I hesitate because there is nowhere for me to hide afterwards.  Here, there is no one to stop me.  No one to catch me.  No one to know I was ever here.  It is freedom.”

              Hannibal’s eyes focused intensely on Will’s face.  He heard a soft shuffle behind him and spun quickly around to see a crime scene technician coming around the corner.  He stopped when he saw Hannibal’s glare.  Wisely, he turned back the way he came.  Hannibal snapped his head back to Will, whose eyes were still closed, moving under his lids as he observed the scene in his mind.

              “I know I don’t have the strength to plunge the knife into the chest, through the heart, where I want to.” Will said.  “I curse my youngness, which holds me back.  I consider the most vulnerable parts of the flesh before me.  Recall mistakes I have made.  Other prey that has gotten away.  Learn, remember.  Then I recall my rage.  My hatred at those who have made me feel weak, because of my youngness.  They are fools; I hold power in my hands such that they will never know.  This man will know my power, if only for a moment.”

              Hannibal’s jaw clenched tightly, his heart beating faster as he listened to the poetry falling from Will’s mouth.

              “I sink the knife without hesitation, with full force into his left eye.  He screams.  I yank it free, the blood spraying upon me, giving me his life.  I sink quickly into the other eye, plunging the blade into the softness, pushing it down, twisting it until I learn the angle of the socket and get the blade fully into his brain.  He dies quickly.  The rush surges through me, and I know I am different.  I am special; important, and will one day be powerful.

              But for now, I am a child.  For now, I have to hide.  I rip off the blood-covered coat I’d been wearing, stolen, and toss it into the dumpster.  I’m smart enough to keep my knife with me to throw it away elsewhere.  I run back up the street, just as people come searching for the sound of the screams, no one paying any attention to a child.  I have to get back home before I’m missed.  No one will ever suspect me, because no one will notice me at all.  This is my design.”

              Will’s eyes flew open to meet Hannibal’s.

              “She is like you.” he said, rising to his feet.  His eyes darted to the dumpster, and Hannibal turned and was flipping the lid open in the same moment, reaching in to pull out the blood-stained coat.

              “Intelligent, but still learning.” Hannibal said, holding the coat in front of him.  It was damning evidence; no doubt DNA from the wearer would be on it.  He was surprised it had not been found already.  Probably because Arthur wanted the scene to remain untouched until Will got to see it.

              “Well for us, that Arthur trusts us the way he does.”

              Will stepped around the corpse and walked up to Hannibal, his face laden with serious emotion.  His eyes darted around the alley, searching for a better place to hide the coat, one where it would not be found until they could come back and retrieve it.

              “There.” he said, pointing to an empty, broken flowerbox hanging from a windowsill on the second story.  Will walked under it and bent down, interlocking his fingers to form a step to give Hannibal a boost.  Though Hannibal winced at placing his shoe on Will’s hands, he knew it was for a very necessary reason, and boosted himself up to stuff the coat into the flower box, too high up for anyone to reach alone.

              He was down and dusting his coat off just in time for them to appear as if nothing was amiss, when Arthur came walking around the corner.

              “I’m terribly sorry.” Will said.  “There is just so little evidence to work with.  I couldn’t pick up on anything, other than I don’t think the killer knew the victim.”

              Arthur nodded.

              “Yes, we felt the same.” he said.  “This wasn’t personal, the motive was not revenge or anything emotional.  Though what do you make of the stabbing of the eyes?”

              Hannibal tilted his head to the side.

              “Perhaps the perpetrator has a self-esteem issue.  He does not want to be seen, or feels unworthy to be seen.”

              Arthur jotted that down quickly, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of Will’s mouth at Hannibal’s slick misdirection into making Arthur think the killer was male.

              “Well, I thank you gentlemen, for your time.” he said.  “I hope you can still have a pleasant day, after this.”

              Hannibal gave him a polite smile, Will a firm handshake, and they left, barely holding the conversation to themselves until they were in their car.

              “She’s young, Hannibal.  Ten, twelve at most.”

              “How can you be certain?”

              “From her height.” he said.  He shook his head a bit, staring blankly out the window.  “Don’t ask me how I know how tall she is.  I just… _see_ it.”

              “I never doubt you in these matters.” Hannibal said.  “But you are greatly moved by her.”

              “I want to protect her.”

              They fell silent.  The unspoken pain of the loss of Abigail still rang thick through the air, even all these years later.

              “Then I shall help you.” Hannibal said, a slight crack in his voice, letting Will know that he _still_ felt guilt over Abigail, even now.

              “You don’t owe me any penance.” Will spat.

              “I didn’t mean it as such.” he replied, his face turning its attention fully on the road, unable to look Will in the eyes.  “Nothing can replace what we’ve lost.  It was never my intention to try.”

              “Then why do this?” he asked.  Hannibal paused, thinking carefully about his words.

              “We cannot replace Abigail.” he said.  “But that does not mean we cannot find value in helping another child.”

              Will stared forlornly out at the apartment buildings as they drove past, hardly seeing them.  They should walk away.  Getting involved in this was dangerous; it could reveal them, end badly, cause them deep pain.  More than they might be able to handle.  If he felt she would be fine on her own, he would.  He would walk away. 

              He saw her again, standing over her sleeping father.  Trying to will herself to kill him.  Not out of enjoyment, but of necessity.  She needed help.

              “I can already see you are deeply emotionally invested.” Hannibal said.  Will sighed.

              “I am.”

              Hannibal nodded.

              “Then we will find her, and help her, however she needs it.”

              Will turned his face towards Hannibal then, his expression wavering.  He reached out and put his palm over the back of Hannibal’s hand as it rested on the steering wheel.

              “I love you.” he said.  “Even to my death.”

              “So you told me, on our wedding day.” Hannibal said, turning his hand up to entwine their fingers.

              Will squeezed his fingers as they decided to go down this path, wherever it would led them, even if it was, indeed, to their death.

 

 

              Will took an invested interest in the homeless man alley case after that, under the guise of guilt from not having been more helpful at the scene.  Arthur was more than pleased to let him have a look at any files he asked for, so he requested all unsolved murders in the entire past year within Paris.

              He sat at the desk in the windowless back room of the precinct and stared for a moment at the pile.  He had no way of narrowing it down ahead of time, because other than her preparedness with the blade and her recklessness with the coat, he had little evidence of the type that would be logged in police files.

              It was easy to toss out most of them with a quick glance; any that appeared to require strength or force; any multiple homicides, anything with a firearm.  The piles sorted quickly into two; definite nos, and needed-to-be-more-closely-looked-ats. 

              He asked a clerk to take away the definite no pile just before lunch.  He stood to stretch his back and stepped out into the lobby to grab cop coffee- he would never _dare_ tell Hannibal that he actually enjoyed and in fact sometimes _missed_ the sludge- when he saw he had missed a text.

              “I’ve reacquired our lost package.  Our charge is safe.”

              Will felt a flutter of relief and something else in his chest.  _Our charge_.  He recalled, with absolute clarity, just how _quickly_ he and Hannibal had fallen into fatherhood with Abigail; they had loved her before they had even loved each other; and Will _knew_ that hadn’t been all him.  Hannibal had some deep need to care for another like himself, so much so that he’d turned Abigail into a killer.  Not that creating killers wasn’t a hobby of his. 

              Will took another sip of the coffee, staring at his phone lost in thought.

              “Any leads, or are your eyes just swimming with letters?” Arthur asked, as he poured himself a cup.

              “I see a few cases that may be related.” he said.  “With so little evidence, it’s hard to tell.”

              Arthur nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder.

              “Well, I appreciate you taking a second look.  But don’t stress too much over it, please.”

              _So_ different from Jack.  The smile Will gave him was genuine.

              He went back to work, his eyes darting over the files, reading the French as easily as he read English now, though his attention was always more focused on the photographs.  Body was dragged ten feet, no; woman was murdered on a roof, no;  mugging clearly gone wrong, wallet missing, no; maid fallen down a staircase, had almost been classified as an accident but for…

              Will squinted, leaning in closer, before fumbling through his pocket to throw on his glasses.  He stared at the photo; the bruises in the small of her back, from the handle of her cleaning cart, which had been shoved into her as she’d stood at the top of the stairs.

              Investigation into her friends and family revealed no immediate enemies or motives.  In fact one of the two detectives assigned to the case had written a deposition about how he still considered this an accident; perhaps someone had fallen into her cart and left the scene in fear.

              Will flipped through the photos of the cleaning cart, squinting, staring, looking for evidence in places he knew no one else would, at a level no one else would—and he saw them.  Smudges in the dirt on the side if the cart, at waist-height…if you were twelve.

              He was certain.  Glancing up at the door, ensuring that no one was coming, he stood and went to the copier in the room.  He made a copy of the entire file, then carefully slipped it into the stack of nos, unremarkable from the rest.  He shoved the copy into his briefcase and went back to work.

              By the end of the day, he’d spend nearly eight hours hunched over a desk, but it had been worth it.  He had two more he was _certain_ belonged to her, and three he was on the fence about.  He put copies of all of them into his briefcase and perhaps, stole a vital piece of information out of this or that file to make the case that much more difficult to solve, if possible at all.

              He emerged from the room, the tired rubbing of his eyes not at all an act, the crack in his back most certainly real as he straightened himself.

              “Anything, Monsieur Lecter?”

              He shook his head, looking exhausted.

              “It appears to be an isolated incident.” he remarked, and Arthur nodded, unquestioningly believing him.

              “Well we thank you for your time.” he said. “Now please, go home, rest.”

              Will smiled at the welcomed words.

 

              He spread out all the files on the desk in Hannibal’s home office.  He no longer saw patients; preferring only to give his professional opinion as a consultant or to appear as an occasional guest lecturer at universities.  While other needs of his would never be satisfied, his need to create as many killers in the world as he could had been sated by the becoming of Will.  No one else would ever become as perfectly, and so was not worth his time.

              The two of them poured over the files by the light of the fire, glasses of wine in hand.  Will had pinned a map of Paris up to the wall, earning Hannibal’s ire until he promised he’d repair the holes.  He marked the locates in reverse-chronological order, retracing her kills.

              “She is prolific.” Hannibal said, a hint of pride in his voice.

              “She’s desperate.” Will corrected.  “She’s learning; practicing, for her goal.”

              “Her father.”

              “He hurts her.” Will said.  He scanned over the map, drawing the subway and bus routes that connected the kills, examining the points of commonality between them.  His pen pressed so hard against the paper that it pressed through, tearing the map, and it was only then that he saw his hand was shaking.

              He felt Hannibal’s firm palm press down on his shoulder and squeeze.

              “Turn away for just a moment.” Hannibal said, and Will did.  Hannibal knew better than to tell him to stop, or even to come to bed and resume in the morning.  Instead he pulled him into his arms, and Will rested his cheek on Hannibal’s shoulder, allowing him to stroke his fingers through his curls.

              “She has survived this long.  She will last another few days or weeks until we find her.”

              “She’s alone.” Will said.  “No siblings, no mother.  Only… _him_.”

              Hannibal stroked Will’s hair further, allowing his muscles to tense under his skin just enough so that Will knew he understood.

              “Is she merely a survivor, looking for the best way out?” Hannibal asked, and Will heard the real question beneath it.  _Is she like us_? _Is she like_ me?

              “No.” Will said.  “She has chosen _this_ way out because of who she is.  Killing makes sense to her.”

              He felt Hannibal’s slight nod, and behind it, deep within the recesses in his darkest rooms, he heard something crumble.  Or come back to life.  He couldn’t be sure.

              Will lifted his head, pressed a quick kiss to Hannibal’s lips, and went back to work.  Hannibal left him in peace, though he didn’t leave his side, eventually retiring to a comfortable armchair in the corner, his head lolling as he dozed.  In the darkness, in the shadows flickering from the fire, Will thought he caught glimpses of Abigail, the dark wisps of her hair encouraging him to work, to think, to _see_.

             

             

              They sat outside the row of apartment buildings in their car, sipping Hannibal’s home-made coffee from his expensive thermos, but it was still a stakeout.  It was mid-afternoon, the hour at which children typically came home from school- a time when they would be the only traffic on the roads, as opposed to the morning, when everyone was about.  Will had narrowed their search down to this neighborhood, from locations, subway patterns, and other subtle clues that led him to believe she was not well-off financially. 

              A group of school-aged girls rounded the corner and headed down the block, all giggling and laughing with each other.  Will perked up, watching them, his eyes scanning their faces.  She would blend in perfectly; even at her age, a practiced actress, because if she wasn’t, she’d already be institutionalized. 

              “Adieu, Marie, adieu Alicia!”

              “Adieu, Charlotte!”

               They all waved cheerfully and parted ways to go into their separate buildings.  Will turned to Hannibal, who gave him no indication that he’d picked up on anything.  Either they were rusty, she was _that_ good at hiding, or she had not been one of them.

              A few minutes later, another group of children walked around the corner, these not dressed in any matching clothes.  Public school children.  This group was more likely.

              There were two boys and three girls, and their conversation was much louder and boisterous.  They teased each other, a boy pulling on one of the girls’ hair.  She turned around and shoved him into a row of hedges, where he got tangled in the branches and struggled to get out, laughing as he scraped his knee on a brick.  He scowled at her as he sank lower into the hedge, and she snickered. 

              “Why are you such a jerk, Alicia?” he cried.

              “Why are you so clumsy, Claude?” she shot back.  The other children all laughed and split up, each heading towards their own building. 

              It was then that a lone girl rounded the corner, her head down, staring at her shoes as she clutched her hands together in front of her.  Her dark brown, pin-straight hair fell in a single braid down her back, over a faded t-shirt that was too small and barely reached the top of skirt, which was too short to cover the hole in the knee of her stockings.  She stopped in front of Claude and reached out her hand to help him.  He took it, though he didn’t look in her eyes, and she pulled him to his feet.

              “Oh look, Simone the Freak is helping Clumsy Claude.” Alicia shouted.  The other children snickered.  Simone turned her head and glared daggers at Alicia.  It was not an idle threat.  There was true desire to do harm in her expression.

              “That’s her.” Will said aloud, just to get the nod from Hannibal that he agreed.  They watched her help Claude get his book bag out of the hedges and his quick “thanks” as he hurried up to his own apartment building.  She then turned and crossed the street, eyes moving quickly in all directions to observe the world, even as she kept her head down and straight ahead.

               She saw them and snapped her head up to face them. She stared directly into Will’s face, not pausing in her step, nor speeding up; not flinching, not blinking.  He stared right back.

              She pretended to ignore them as she got out her key and vanished into her building, but she had noticed them _immediately_ , senses heightened, as a creature caught between being both predator and prey; constantly aware of her surroundings.

              “Simone, and now we have her address.” Hannibal said.  He put the car into gear, and Will almost protested.  He nearly shoved the door of the moving car open to leap out of the vehicle after her, and he wasn’t entirely sure what stopped him from doing so.

              “We must approach this in a careful manner.” Hannibal said.  “If we plan this correctly, we will get her out of danger.”

              Will rubbed his forehead, trying to push his emotions aside so he could _think_.

              “What do you have in mind?”

              “Well, that girl didn’t appear very well-adjusted to me.  Not at all.” he said.  “In fact I believe she may be in need of the services of a psychiatrist.”

              Will felt the twitch pull up at the corner of his lips as he heard the snake beneath Hannibal’s finely tailored words.

              “Who she will confide in.”

              “Who will advocate for her.”

              Will leaned back in to his seat and relaxed. 

              “How will you get her to be your patient?”

              “I’d imagine once her father is in prison for the night, social services will have to call _someone_ , and I will be readily available.  I have connections in that office.  I’ll simply be present when the call comes in.”

              Will frowned.

              “Why would he…”

              “A certain police profiler might mistake him as a suspect in the murder of a certain homeless man.” Hannibal said.

              The tick that had appeared at the corner of Will’s mouth pulled up into a full-blown smile.

              “Oh, I forget just how cunning you are.” Will said.

              “A mistake that normally results in death.” Hannibal said, bringing Will’s hand up to his lips to graze his teeth over his knuckles.  Will shuddered with pleasure, his body reminding him of the monster that lived under Hannibal’s skin, the beast who gave him permission to live, just as he offered that permission in return.

             


	4. Simone

It was frighteningly easy to convince Arthur that Mr. Halpert was a strong suspect; strong enough to be arrested, rather than simply bring in for questioning.  Will had of course waited until four in the afternoon to have his “revelation”, ensuring that Simone would be _home_ when the police, along with Will, arrived at her apartment.  They knocked on Mr. Halpert’s door, and when he opened it wearing nothing but jogging shorts, he found himself quickly handcuffed and being carted away into the police car by the officers, leaving Will and Arthur alone with Simone.

              She sat quietly, _silently_ , in a dirty armchair in the corner of the living room, holding a book in her lap.  She appeared calm on the outside, but her eyes were alert, her entire body tense and aware of her surroundings.  She glanced over Arthur and then snapped her gaze to Will, recognizing him from yesterday instantly.  He had made certain that the conversation at the door made it _very clear_ what murder Mr. Halpert was being arrested for, and he saw the fear in her eyes—the terror that she was close to being caught.

              Arthur tried to step forward, but Will was quicker.  He knelt down on one knee before her, lowering himself below her eye-level.

              “Simone, it’s going to be okay.” he said.  “My name is Will.  I’m here to protect you.”

              He did _not_ say “we”, and he did _not_ say “police.”

              “You’re not a policeman.” she said softly, her voice quiet but certain.  She was stating a fact, not asking a question.  He smiled quickly, then let it vanish from his face.  Oh, she was brilliant.

              “No, I’m not.  But I’m going to take you to some people who will look after you, while the police…speak with your father.”

               “You mean foster parents.”

              He tried to hide the pain in his eyes, but he was certain she saw it.

              “For a short time.”

              She tilted her head to the side, her braid shifting against her back.  Her expression remained motionless, almost, Will thought with amusement, like Hannibal’s.  “You don’t want me to live with foster parents.” she said.

              Will smiled, his face turned towards her, so that Arthur could not see.  She was quick; she knew he was trying to bond with her; but whether or not she believed he was being genuine, he could not tell.

              “Nobody wants that to happen.  But sometimes it’s necessary.” he said.  He could hear Arthur shuffling behind him, his feet awkward, and he was probably glad that Will was the one having this conversation with her, after all.

              “Okay.” she replied.  She hopped up onto her feet, the hole in her stocking closing up as she stood and it was no longer stretched.  Will took in the state of her clothes then; they were dirty as well as torn, and his mind had to struggle to rein his heart in.

              Will rose behind her and gestured towards the door.

              “This is Arthur Belgard.  He’s my friend.” he said.  She passed by Arthur, sizing him up, her brown eyes scrutinizing him within seconds.  She determined him not a threat, or unimportant, and walked past him without so much as a second glance. 

              “Don’t you want to bring anything, sweetheart?” Arthur said.  “Clothes, schoolbooks?”

              She shrugged.

              “Not really.  I don’t have much of anything.”

              She walked to the back of the detective’s car and waited.  Will forced away the lump in his throat.  She would have so much more than this.  He would give her everything.

              Arthur got into the driver’s seat and Will walked around to the passenger side.  He pulled out his phone and texted Hannibal.

              “Package is on the way.”

              He tucked it away and the three of them rode in silence to Child Services.

              They were scrambling when they arrived, having no more than an hour’s notice to prepare for Simone’s arrival. 

              “Hi, Mrs. Lutte.” Simone said, sitting herself carefully down in a seat beside her case-worker.

              “Hello, Simone.  I’m so sorry about your father.  You know...”

              “You will take very good care of me, I know.” she said, pulling out a children’s magazine from a rack on the wall.  She started reading it slowly, only the slightest tilt of her head indicating that she’d finished one page and was moving to read the next, giving all the appearance in the world that none of this affected her.

              Mrs. Lutte frowned, then got back to work, frantically making phone calls, going down a list on her desk, crossing off names after each one.

              “Please, I know it is very short notice, but there is a beautiful little girl here in need of an immediate home, can you possibly…oh, you have three children already an no more extra rooms?  Perhaps two of them can share?  No?  Okay, thank you for your time…”

              She hung up and crossed one more name off her list, looking more and more exasperated as the minutes ticked by.  Will lifted his eyes from where he stood and peered back at the sea of desks, until his gaze met Hannibal’s.  Their plan, it seemed, was working out even better than they’d hoped.

              After politely excusing himself from the conversation he’d been having with his acquaintance, Hannibal walked patiently, appearing almost a bit hesitant, to Mrs. Lutte’s desk.  He stood politely and waited while she finished her next phone call and hung up, her eyes appearing strained.

              “Forgive me, but I couldn’t help overhearing your struggle to find this little girl a place to stay tonight.” he said.  At the sound of those words, Simone looked up…and stiffened when she saw the face of the _other_ man who had been watching her from his car window the day before.  Her eyes darted to Will, then to Hannibal, then back to Will, who winked at her.  She stared at him, her brown eyes a sea of questions and curiosity—though he was relieved to sense no fear in her.  Sadness, yes; but not fear.  There was only one person she feared, and he was safely away from her.

              “I know I’m not officially on the roster of foster homes.” Hannibal said.  “But I am a certified child psychologist; I have an impeccable record of esteem, and I have room and resources to spare to take care of Miss Halpert for a few days.”

              Will had to struggle not to laugh.  He didn’t know how Hannibal said the things he did with a straight face.  Will would never be a master trickster in that regard.  His lies were of an entire different nature; the mask of Will Graham, mild-mannered and shy, easily trusted because there wasn’t a mean bone in his body.  Until there was, and you were dead.

              Mrs. Lutte looked absolutely _relieved_.

              “I’m certain it wouldn’t take long to get the paperwork put through to get you certified temporarily to take in foster children.” she said.  “I can do the home inspection myself, Dr. Lecter.  I would honestly be delighted to leave Simone in your hands rather than in some of these other places…”

              She cut herself short when she realized Simone was watching, listening intently.

              “Sweetheart, what do you think of going home with this man, Dr. Lecter?” she said to her.  “He’s a friend of mine.”

              Simone’s eyes darted up to Hannibal, then back to Will, narrowing, assessing them.  The fact that they were up to something was not beyond her at all.  Will’s heart swelled with…pride?  That couldn’t be.

              “I’ll go.” she finally said, standing up in a fluid, graceful motion.

              “Wonderful.  Let me just grab the paperwork.” Mrs. Lutte said, and in short order they were all piling into Mrs. Lutte’s car, Hannibal calling one of their staff to come and pick up his car.

              “Is he coming too?” she asked quietly, looking to Will.  Hannibal’s smile was saccharin. 

              “Why yes, Will is my husband.  I hope you don’t mind that my husband lives in my own house?”

              Her eyes narrowed again, and Will recognized the look.  She could tell there was _something_ about Hannibal.  She couldn’t put her finger on it; hell, it had taken Will a year to figure it out, when profiling was what he did for a _living_.  But she sensed it.  That he was not to be trusted—and yet, here she was, trusting him.

              Will felt himself fall in love with Hannibal just a little bit more, if that was even possible.

              Hannibal took the front seat, and Will sat in the back with Simone.

              “What’s your job, Mr. Lecter?” she asked, her eyes scrutinizing Will from head to toe.

              “I’m an investigator.” he said simply.

              “But you’re not a police man.”

              “No, I’m not.  I only help them solve difficult cases.”

              She bit her lower lip, nodding, thinking.

              “Like Sherlock Holmes?”

              Hannibal laughed a bit from the front seat, and Will smiled.

              “Kind of, yes.”

              She nodded once, satisfied, and turned to stare out the window.

              That was all she said for the rest of the drive.  Mrs. Lutte did most of the talking, asking Hannibal routine questions and giving him information, handing him papers to sign as she drove.  He gave every answer satisfactorily, ensuring that yes, he knew how to properly care for a child, he was a medical doctor as well as a psychiatrist, after all.  Therefore he was qualified to care for her both physically and mentally. 

              “And Will can be the fun one.” he added in.  Will rolled his eyes, and he saw Simone crack a tiny, tiny smile at the corner of her mouth before it was gone.

              They arrived, and the guest room two doors down from theirs had been neatly turned out and cleaned moments before, after Hannibal had texted the staff.  It wasn’t fitting for a child; it was merely a large, queen-sized bed with an empty dresser, a nightstand, and a bookshelf with material mostly about finances and medical history, but it was “suitable in an emergency situation”, as Mrs. Lutte put it.

              Simone’s eyes told a different story; however; having consistently grown wider and wider as they walked through the mansion, unbelieving that she was to live _here_ , in the home of rich people.

              Mrs. Lutte then brought up the uncomfortable question that they were both men, and Simone was a little girl.

              “We have servants in the house twenty-four hours a day.  I will ensure that there are always some female present.  In fact most of them are mothers.  They will all be available to help Simone with whatever she may need.”

              Mrs. Lutte was more than satisfied with that, and somehow, Simone’s eyes grew even wider at the mention of servants.

              “I can ask them for things?” she asked quietly, and Hannibal’s lip twitched upwards the tiniest amount at how pleased with his home he was.

              “For as long as you stay here, this is your home, and so yes, the staff is here to help you with your every need.” he said.

              Her face was still frozen in shock when the three of them walked Mrs. Lutte to the front door, the stack of paperwork tightly clenched in her hand for fear of one blowing away.

              “I can’t thank you enough, Dr. Lecter, Monsieur Lecter.” she said, nodding to them both.  “Your charity is well known to the community, but this is above and beyond.”

              “Anything to help a child in need.” Hannibal said, his smile serpentine.  Then she was gone, and the front door was closed.  Hannibal stiffly turned to look down at Simone and allowed the tiniest smile to prick at the corner of his mouth.

              “Well.  I should get started on dinner.”

              She stared silently at his back as he walked down the main hall and disappeared towards the kitchen.  She didn’t move, or say anything, and when Will turned, she flinched.

              It took a great amount of his willpower to keep the rage that flared within him under control.  They would punish the man who had hurt her, in due time.

              “So, what should we do while we wait for dinner?” Will asked.  Simone stared back at him for a long moment, her brown eyes wide, her face appearing impassive but emotions roiled just below the surface.

              “With all these servants, he still makes dinner himself?” she finally asked.  Will smiled, allowing the darkness behind it to show on his face, just a hair.

              “No one is a better cook than Hannibal.” he said.  “The staff consider it a treat when he makes enough for everyone.”

              It was much easier to hide murder sprees when you had a staff of twenty to help you eat the evidence.

              She tilted her head slightly to the side to peer down the hall where he’d disappeared.

              “Why don’t we find something to do?” Will asked, walking towards the sitting room he and Hannibal spent most of their time in.  He was glad when she followed him, her worn sneakers not making a single sound on the hardwood floors as she walked.  “I saw you had a book when Detective Belgard and I came to pick you up.  Do you like to read?”

              He stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face her.  She stopped a few feet from him, and nodded her head very slightly.  Will smiled and walked over to a bookshelf.  There wasn’t much on it suitable for a child…

              “I saw you both in the car yesterday, watching me.” she said.  Will stopped his search of the bookshelves and straightened, turning to face her.  She still stood, almost perfectly still, in the center of the room.

              “Yes, we were.” he said, slowly walking towards an armchair and lowering himself into it.  He gestured towards the nearby couch, and she went, sitting carefully down on it, on the very edge.  She placed her hands in her lap and remained perfectly still.

              “Were you investigating my father?  Because you think he killed that man in the alley?” she asked.  Will could hear the fear in her voice, though she hid it _very_ well; and then she probably realized that a normal person would think she was worried for her father.

              “We can’t tell you the reason we were there.” Will replied, which was the truth, but also a lie, because he knew she would take it to mean “yes.”

              She sighed, her eyes moving to stare at the corner of the piano bench rather than look at him.  She thought he was patronizing her. 

              “You’ve never had foster children before.” she said then, still staring at the piano bench, refusing to meet his gaze.

              “No.” he said, and nothing else.

              “Why me?” she said, her eyes flying to meet his.  Their gazes locked and for a quick moment, Will almost told her.

              He inhaled slowly, placing his palms on his knees while he thought.  He knew she would see through whatever lie he came up with.  She was _sharp_ , and it only endeared her to him more.

              “We could tell you were different.” he said.  Their eyes stayed on each other for a long moment, each daring the other to look away first, and Will was disappointed when it was Simone.  Her gaze fell to the floor.

              “I’m not normal.” was her response.

              “Neither are we.” he replied, and he let the truth of that statement ring through it, hoping she could hear the depth of his honesty.  He saw a flicker of hope fly across her face and then vanish again.   He wanted to do everything he could to bring it back.

              “You belong in this house, Simone.” he said, wishing he could say more.  He saw she didn’t believe him.  She would.

              “I don’t think we have any books for someone your age.” Will said.  “Is there anything else you like to do?  Play piano?  Draw?”

              She lifted her chin just a bit at that.

              “I like to draw.”

              Will smiled and rose, walking over to Hannibal’s drafting table.  Careful not to smudge any of his work, he pulled a few sheets of black paper and a box of his less favorite (but still high quality) pencils.  He brought it over to the coffee table and set them down, sitting on the floor across from her.

              She slid off the couch and kneeled on the floor opposite him, her hands reaching for a sheet and a pencil eagerly.  She started immediately, and Will’s heart leapt with pleasantness.  She knew her own mind. 

              He started to draw as well, not thinking much about it, halfway finished before she turned to look at his picture.

              “Did you used to live there?” she asked, and he pulled back, finally realizing that he’d been drawing the atrium of Port Haven Psychiatric facility, where he and Abigail had had so many talks.

              “Someone I cared about used to.” he said softly.

              He looked down at it and must have shown his emotions on his face.

              “You miss them.” she said.  He nodded, staring at the half-finished picture, wondering if it wasn’t too late to hide it so that Hannibal wouldn’t see.  Then he remembered there wasn’t a point.  He already knew Will’s feelings on the entire matter.

              Instead, he turned to look at Simone’s drawing.  Trees, sprouting up from the ground, bare and leafless, crooked branches reaching up to become long fingers, clasping around the body of a sleeping or dead girl.  It was surprising quality as well; it lacked shadow or depth, but there was still detail in the branches, enough so that he could tell the face of the girl was left unclear intentionally.

              “Is that you?” he asked, and she turned to look at her own picture. 

              “Sometimes.” she said, very softly, turning her face away.  “I told you I was different…”

              “It’s perfect.” he said, and she brought her head to look at him, surprise on her face.  She opened her mouth to speak when the door from the kitchen swung open, and Hannibal strode in, his rolled-up sleeves the only indication that he’d been working.

              “Dinner is served.” he announced, a smile on his lips.  Will rose, picking Simone’s drawing off the table, and handed it to Hannibal.

              “Simone is an artist.” he said.  Hannibal held it between both his hands, regarding it for much longer than an adult would normally look at a child’s drawing.  Eventually he lowered it, lifting his eyes to find Simone standing beside Will, having moved almost silently across the room.

              “This shows tremendous artistic potential.” he said.  “We shall get you art lessons.”

              Simone’s mouth opened in shock.

              “I…don’t think I’m going to be here very long.” she said quietly.

              “Nonsense.  You’ll be here plenty.” he said, turning to head into the dining room.

              “Marie!” Hannibal called as they all entered.  Will pulled out a chair and gestured for Simone to sit, and she did so silently, her eyes drinking in the elaborate table settings.

              “Yes, Dr. Lecter?” Marie asked as she bustled into the room, her skinny frame covered in dust from whatever she had been cleaning. 

              “Find some magnets, please.  We need to put Simone’s drawing on the refrigerator.”

              “Yes, Dr. Lecter.” Marie said, taking the drawing from Hannibal, pausing to send a bright smile towards Simone before she vanished again.  Hannibal then turned and disappeared into the kitchen, and Will sat across from Simone, her face still frozen in shock.

              Will smiled at her and unfolded his napkin to lay it across his lap.  He gestured with his chin at hers, and she did the same, copying his motions as best as she could.

              “What’s on your mind, Simone?” Will asked.  Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the paintings on the walls, the vases and sculptures in the corners, the elaborate centerpiece on the table.  Her gaze game to rest on Will’s face again and she inhaled.

              “Everyone else gets freaked out by my drawings.” she said.

              Will gave her a demure smile and folded his hands together, his elbows resting on the table.

              “You will learn that we are not everyone else.” he said, and she tilted her head curiously, narrowing her eyes slightly.

              The door swung open as Hannibal walked through carrying a bottle of wine and a glass of water.  He placed the water in front of Simone and poured the wine for Will and himself, then left in a hurry as a timer rang from the kitchen. 

              “He’ll be very upset if I don’t like his food, won’t he?” she asked, a quiet tremble in her voice.  Will furrowed his brow, trying to find the best phrase to use.

              “He’ll be disappointed, yes.  But he won’t become angry.  He won’t hurt you.” he said.  “And it won’t make you any less welcome here.” he pushed further, leaning forward just a bit to emphasize his point.  “You don’t have to pretend to like something when you don’t.  Honesty is important in this house.”

              He could tell from her expression that she didn’t believe a word he said.  He sighed inwardly and let it go.

              The door swung inward again as Hannibal pushed through it with his back, holding a large tray with three steaming plates upon it.

              “Grilled chicken valdostano, draped with prosciutto ham and fontina cheese, capped with sautéed mushrooms and a side of fettuccini.” Hannibal said, placing Simone’s plate in front of her first, with as much flourish as he did for guests, though she wouldn’t be able to appreciate it just yet.  Her eyes flew to Will in terror. 

              He laughed, a real, hearty, deep laughter that had Hannibal giving him a pointed look.

              “Hannibal, why don’t you just call it chicken and noodles with cheese?” he said.  He saw her face relax, and Hannibal’s lip twitched with irritation.             

              “One does not become cultured by being spoken to in a simplified manner.  Simone deserves the best education, which she will only acquire if we _teach_ it to her.”

              He finished setting the table and walked away with the tray in a huff.  Will met Simone’s eyes over the table.

              “It’s chicken and noodles with cheese.” he whispered, and she smiled just a bit.  “You’ll like it.” he assured her.

              Hannibal re-entered the room and sat at the head of the table, placing his napkin on his lap after he did so.  He picked up his knife and fork, followed by Will, followed by Simone.     

              She held her fork incorrectly and was unskilled with her knife, but she attempted to imitate Hannibal as she cut her chicken, making no attempt to hide that she was staring at his plate, copying every movement of his hands as he sliced through the meat.  She brought a bite up to her mouth and stared at it for a moment, neither man saying a word, until she opened her mouth and took a small bite.  She swallowed, it, said nothing, and popped the rest of it into her mouth, chewing, Hannibal’s eyes boring into her forehead with anticipation.

              “I never had anything like it before.” she said.  “I like it.”

              Hannibal nodded once in acknowledgement, and that was all; though Will could hear the delight in his voice as he spoke.

              “It’s an older recipe of mine.” he said.  “I’ve had many compliments concerning it over the years.”

              They ate for awhile in silence, the three of them content to savor Hannibal’s cooking, letting the flavor speak for itself.  When the chicken was nearly gone, and everyone was working on their pasta, Hannibal brought his wine to his lips, took a swallow, and dabbled his mouth with his napkin before speaking.

              “Simone, why didn’t you bring any clothing or personal belongings with you?” he asked, his tone slightly warmer than the way he normally spoke.  Her eyes fell to stare at her plate anyway.

              “I won’t be here very long.” she said. 

              “Well no, but you haven’t even anything to sleep in tonight.”

              She shrugged.

              “I don’t have pajamas at home, either.  I just sleep in a regular shirt.”

              “Well that won’t do.” he said.  “Tomorrow, you and Will should go shopping.  Get everything you need.  I also heard you say you like to read?”

              She nodded slowly, her face a mixture of disbelief, hope, and sadness that she knew this wouldn’t last.

              “I won’t need much.” she said.  “I’ll only be here for a few days.”

              “Well, that is assuming your father is so quickly cleared of the charges.” Hannibal said, picking up his knife to cut another piece of chicken.

              “He didn’t do it.” she said.

              “You seem very certain of that.” he replied, putting the piece of chicken into his mouth.  She stared at her plate.

              “I mean…”

              “I assure you, I know exactly what you meant.”

              Will felt old, unpleasant emotions rise from deep within him.  He wanted to tell Hannibal to stop; there was no need to manipulate this girl; she was already perfect.  But he wasn’t manipulating her; not really; other than to guide her towards confessing to them her true nature, which would take a lot of time and a great amount of pushing.  He wasn’t trying to _change_ her, only free her, and he was being exceedingly gentle with her—at least, compared to the methods Will knew he was capable of.

              “Tonight you will sleep in one of my nightgowns.  I’ll have Marie hem it for you, and then wash the clothes you are wearing so they will be clean for you tomorrow.  In the morning I will drive you to school on my way to a conference I’m attending, and after school you and Will will purchase whatever you may need.”

              She didn’t argue a second time, nodding quietly, and that was all the conversation that was had at the dinner table.

 

              After dinner, the three sat in the sitting room.  It was too warm for a fire, but Hannibal still sat in the chair by the fireplace, legs crossed as he engrossed himself in a book.  Will would normally either bury himself in a book as well or get lost in his fly-making by the window that faced the back lawn; but he didn’t want to leave Simone with nothing to do.

              “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the marble chess table that sat by the wall, the crystal pieces arranged in the starting position on the board.

              “That’s a chess board.” Will said.  “Do you know how to play?” she shook her head, her eyes not leaving the pieces.

              “Why don’t I teach you.” he said, sitting down in one of the chairs.  More eagerly than she’d moved all day, Simone pulled out the chair and sat down in it.  Her eyes followed Will’s fingers diligently as he explained the names of each piece and how they moved. 

              “The rules are actually pretty simple.  But the game is very difficult.  With the first one, I’ll tell you what I’m thinking aloud, so you can learn.” he said.  She nodded, and they began.  She hung on every word he said, eager to learn, her mind hungry for knowledge and her heart starving for attention.  There was a nagging sadness that wouldn’t leave Will whenever he saw how impoverished she was intellectually and emotionally; but below that was a deep, pulsing glow of warmth.  He couldn’t call it love; not yet; but it was something akin to it.  Now and then he glanced up at Hannibal as they played, and saw the amusement in his eyes.  He was enjoying this evening as much as Will was.

              When it came time for bed, Marie appeared with Hannibal’s hemmed nightgown and guided Simone to the bathroom that was to be hers, just down the hall from the guest room.  She helped her get ready, which Simone delighted in, marveling at all the tasks she was expected to complete, _just to go to bed_.

              Before she went to sleep, she was instructed to come back downstairs and “say goodnight.”

              “Um.  Goodnight?” she said quietly.  Will smiled at her, though he didn’t rise from the couch where he sat.  He had to continually remind himself that they were still nearly strangers to her, as protective as he already felt.

              “Goodnight, Simone.” he said, and gave her a smile.

              “Sleep well.” Hannibal responded, and Marie guided her back upstairs to her room.

              Later, when they were turning down the blankets to go to sleep themselves, Will saw the amusement on Hannibal’s face.

              “What?”

              “You haven’t stopped glowing all day.”

              He tried to glare in response, but wasn’t able to because he smile was in the way.  That only made Hannibal’s amusement grow.

              “You like her too.”

              He nodded with sincerity.

              “She has already endeared herself to me, yes.”

              Will slid under the covers and waited for Hannibal to slide in beside him.  Before he even had a chance to turn of the light, Will was pulling him in for a kiss, wrapping his arms tightly around his back, holding him close.

              “I know you went along with this for me.” he said.  Hannibal’s thumb reached up to hold Will’s chin, their eyes meeting in the soft light of the bedside lamp.

              “While I would never attempt raising a child on my own without you, I am still invested in this commitment.” he said.  Will rolled his eyes.

              “A typical, Hannibal non-answer.”

              He sighed.

              “She is important to me because she is important to you.” he said.  “Don’t take that to mean she is _not_ important to me.”

              Will was satisfied with that, and rested his head on Hannibal’s shoulder as he reached up and shut off the light.

             

             

             

              The breath of the raven stag misted in the cool night air, lit white by the moonlight before it dissipated into the darkness.  It turned and walked peacefully through the forest, its hooves making a heavy thudding sound on the solid earth beneath.  Will turned, and there was Hannibal beside him, his skin blacker than the night sky, his matching rack of antlers rising proudly from his head.  Neither spoke, but Hannibal placed his hand on Will’s feathered back, and together they walked in silence in the peaceful forest.

              There was a horrific scream; like the sound of tires trying to keep to the road, and it bounced off the hillsides and echoed among the trees.  They paused, beasts too terrifying to be afraid, but curious none-the-less. 

              A small yearling deer, barely old enough to not be called a fawn, careened through the forest at a reckless speed, nearly tripping over its own feet.  It was as white as snow, it’s fur glistening in the moonlight, terror radiating from its eyes.  It stumbled down an incline and even then did not slow, regaining its footing to run again before it had even finished falling.

              Behind it flew an enraged, enormous black bird.  It was the size of an eagle; bigger; yet it was as black as Hannibal’s skin.  It pursued the white dear with fury, intent to kill.

              Will stepped one hoof forward and cried out to the deer.  His stag-voice resounded through the trees, and the deer stopped dead in its tracks to look directly at him.  Its gaze lingered on him for only a second, then shifted to Hannibal.

              He nodded once.

              The deer then turned to face her foe.  The bird attacked, flinging its talons forth towards the tiny deer’s head, and the deer growled like a wolf.  Her mouth opened wide, revealing rows and rows of sharp, vicious teeth.  She sank them into the bird before it could stop, tearing out its throat.  Blood rained down over her white fur, staining her red.  The bird in her teeth as she ripped chunk after chunk of flesh from its body, feathers flying in every direction, some sticking to her blood-mottled fur.

              The bird broke free and flung itself high into the air, turning to dive with its claws aimed at the deer’s face.  She tried to bite back, but it had better aim, it’s talons sinking into the flesh of her back, tearing chunks of fur and skin.  She bucked wildly, trying to get it off, but it held fast, it’s beak pecking at the back of her neck as she cried out in pain.

              Will charged with his antlers, flying just behind her, impaling the bird with his horns.  He flung it behind him, where Hannibal caught it in his sharp, black claws, and tore it to shreds.

              Simone stumbled to her feet, her body growing, changing from a yearling to a formidable beast, the size of Will himself, the feathers that had fallen upon her planting themselves into her fur and becoming part of her.  She was brilliant; white, red, and black, majestic and powerful, and Will had never been so proud.

             

              He sat up in bed, his heart racing, his breath heaving, yet he was not drenched in sweat.  He’d been having a pleasant dream, why was he awa…

              Then he heard her scream again, Simone, from down the hall.  Hannibal was already on his feet, tossing his robe on, and Will was quickly behind him.  They both burst into her room at once, Hannibal flicking on the light.

              The light woke her, and she screamed again, jerking into a sitting position in her bed as she flung her hands up to protect her face.

              “Simone, are you alright?” Hannibal asked, in the _exact_ same tone with which he used to ask Will that question, back when he still had nightmares.

              Her wide eyes darted from between them several times, before her brain registered where she was, and who they were.

              “I…it was only a nightmare.  I didn’t mean to wake everyone up.” she said softly.  Quickly, she lowered her arms to her sides, shame rising to blush in her cheeks. Will wanted to sweep her into his arms and hold her tightly; promise to protect her from all danger; but they hardly knew each other and he didn’t think it would help her to be held by a near stranger.

              So instead he sat gingerly on the foot of her bed, too far even to reach out his hand to place on her shoulder.

              “It’s alright.  We’re not upset.  We were only worried.” he said.  She looked back up to Hannibal then, needing to see if he was as forgiving as Will.

              “Nightmares can happen to anyone.” he said, in a voice that to her probably sounded very clinical, but Will could hear tones of softness in it.  “Why, Will used to have them all the time.  There is nothing to be ashamed of for having unpleasant dreams.”

              Will forgot just how damned comforting Hannibal could be, when he wanted to.

              She nodded, her brow relaxing a bit.

              “Do you like tea, Simone?” Hannibal offered.  She tilted her head to the side and thought.

              “You mean like iced tea?”

              Will had to keep himself from laughing as Hannibal looked as appalled as if she’d set his harpsichord on fire.

              “No, hot tea.” he said.  She shrugged.

              “I’ve never had any.”

              Hannibal straightened his shoulders with dignity.

              “Well we shall fix this at once.  Tea is the most respected and comforting beverage known to humanity, and you simply cannot live a moment longer not having had some.”

              She gave him a quizzical look, squinting her eyes, trying to understand him.

              “But it’s the middle of the night.”

              She turned to Will for explanation.  Clearly, she thought he was the more normal one.

              “Hannibal will be very disappointed if you don’t try his tea.” he said.  “We’re all awake anyway.”  He rose, reaching out his hand toward her, palm up.  He chased away distant memories of holding Abigail’s hands to comfort her, and they faded like wisps of smoke when Simone reached out and took his palm softly.  She was real, and alive, and warm; not a distant memory.  She was not Abigail.

              Once she was standing, he let go, and Hannibal led the way downstairs to the kitchen.  He put on a kettle and they all sat around the kitchen island on stools while they waited for it to brew.

              “I’m going to be really tired for school tomorrow.” she said.

              “We will excuse you from school, then.” Hannibal said.  “You had a long evening.  You need to rest.  And I do believe you and Will have some shopping to do.” he said, as he opened cabinets and retrieved three teacups.

              “But I have to get my education, it’s my only way out.” she said.

              Will’s heart practically wept.  Without even thinking, his hand was reaching out to hold hers, and he was overjoyed when she reached back.

              “We are your way out.” he said to her.  He saw in her eyes that she wanted to believe him.  Desperately.  And then she pulled away, and turned her gaze down to the counter.

              “You don’t want me.  You think you do, but I’m broken.”

              Just then, the teapot whistled, interrupting the conversation.  Will’s brow furrowed, trying to think of what to say, knowing that they had to handle this very delicately.  Everything had to be said, or not said, _just_ right, and this was not his area of expertise.

              So when Hannibal pulled the teakettle from the stove, Will remained silent.  He and Simone watched him fill each cup, to precisely the same height, the teabags soaking up the hot water to turn it brown.  No one spoke as he carried two cups over and placed one in front of Simone, the other in front of Will.  He then carried his over and sat, pulling over the sugar.

              “I once thought I was broken.” he said, scooping two spoonfuls of sugar into Simone’s cup and stirring, the tinkling sound of the spoon against the porcelain echoing through the kitchen.  “And I thought I would be alone forever, because of it.  Even after I came to accept that my differentness was not brokenness, but a gift; I still thought there would never be anyone who would understand me.” he said.  He placed the spoon gently on the countertop beside Simone’s teacup, and she raised her eyes to look into his face, her expression desperate and pleading.

              “But then I met Will.” he said, reaching his hand over to clasp Will’s, though his eyes never left Simone’s face.  “And he understood me in ways I thought no one ever would.  When I thought I would be alone forever, instead I found a husband, to be with me always.”

              Will saw a little hint of a smile peek at the corner of Simone’s eyes.  Hope.

              “I was in my fifties when I found him.” Hannibal said.  “And I promise you, Simone, you will not need to wait nearly that long before you find someone who understands you, for who you truly are.  You are not broken, but different.  And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

              Will could see that she wanted to believe him; but he also knew that she didn’t know Hannibal _knew_.  She thought he was talking about some other, lesser form of difference; the kind of “be yourself” speech she heard from grown-ups all the time.  But she would learn what they really meant, in time.

              “Now, I believe our tea is cool enough to sip.  Very gently, don’t get burned.” he said, letting go of Will’s hand.  The three of them, in synchrony, lifted their cups to their lips and took a sip.  Will watched Simone’s face as she _hated_ the taste, her nose wrinkling but then quickly falling slack, her cheeks pinching together even as she tried to force them not to.

              “It… _feels_ nice.” she tried, and Will saw absolute _delight_ on Hannibal’s face.

              “Yes, it does.  That is half the point of tea.  And, in time, you will also come to like the taste.” he said.  She smiled at him when he said ‘in time’.  Will had no doubts that she believed she would be gone in a few days and never see them again; but she still relished the idea that Hannibal _wanted_ her to stay, even if she believed it wasn’t true.

              But Will knew, better than anyone, that once Hannibal wanted something, he would have it.  He knew that Simone wasn’t going anywhere, now that she had endeared herself to him—and it hadn’t even been a full day.

 


	5. Murder & Sex

Simone smiled softly as she sipped on her milkshake, her brand-new tights stretching evenly across her legs without a single hole or snare as she swung her feet.  She shrugged her shoulders, feeling the weight of her new blouse, black and covered in white butterflies, to match the black-and-white checkered skirt she’d picked out.

              “This day is a dream.” she said, a light in her eyes that had not been there yesterday.  Will smiled at her, saddened by how easy it was to make her happy with material things, because of her lack of them.  She looked down at her milkshake and stirred it, contemplation falling over her young face, her eyes growing sad and her jaw growing hard.

              “I’ll remember this forever, Mr. Lecter.” she said. 

              “Please call me Will.”

              “Okay.  It doesn’t matter.  As soon as they realize my dad didn’t do it, I’ll be back with him.”

              Her voice grew softer with each word she spoke, until the end of her sentence came out in barely more than a whisper.

              Will inhaled slowly to force himself to think before answering, and then exhaled slowly to steady his voice.

              “What makes you so certain he didn’t do it?” he prodded.  He knew it wasn’t time.  Of course it wasn’t.  And when the time came, it would most likely be Hannibal to break the ice on this matter with her.  But he could plant seeds.

              She shrugged.

              “He’s just not that smart.” she said.  A smile pricked at the corner of Will’s mouth.

              “A smart person killed the homeless man, did they?”

              She nodded, her face careful, thinking that she had a secret to hide.  
              “Yes.  And my dad, he…he’s not smart.  At all.”

              Will thought, perhaps, he could get her to open up to him on a different matter.

              “You don’t like your dad, do you?”

              She shook her head no without hesitation.

              “He’s mean.”

              Will was reaching across the table, covering her hand with his, before he even thought about the action or that he shouldn’t be doing it.  He couldn’t help it.  He felt a ferocious need to protect her, and being patient was difficult.

              “How is he mean, Simone?  Does he hurt you?”

              She pulled her hand away and folded them both into her lap.  All joy was now gone from her face, and Will _saw_ her.  Saw the part of her that was like them.  The part she hid behind childish innocence.

              “He hits me.” she said, shrugging.  “Mostly only when he’s drunk, but he’s always drunk.”

              Will clenched his jaw tightly and tried to contain the rage that flashed behind his eyes.

              “Simone, have you told anyone this?”

              She shrugged.

              “People know.  Mrs. Lutte knows.  I’ve been in foster care lots of times.  They make him do classes and then I live with him again until I got to the hospital again and then I’m in foster care again and then they make him do classes…”

              Will’s hand moved up to her shoulder, and he gave her a gentle squeeze.  She tilted her face up to him.

              “We will get you away from him.” he said.  Her eyes screamed to believe him, before she shrunk away from his touch, and he pulled his hand back.

              “You don’t want me.  I’m broken.  I deserve him.” she said.

              “No.” Will said, again speaking before thinking.  She merely stared at the table, unaware that he knew her secret, and already accepted her and indeed, loved her for it.

              He tried another approach.

              “You know that Hannibal is a psychiatrist.”

              She nodded.

              “Perhaps we could arrange for you to have appointments with him, even when you live with your father.  He can write letters to the judge saying that your father is not a good parent.  Get you out of his home _permanently_.”

              Her bottom lip quivered and she bit it back, though her eyes still watered.

              “Why are you both being so nice to me?”

              Will paused.  He knew he couldn’t tell her that already, he _loved_ her.  He wasn’t sure himself how genuine the feeling was; if it was merely his heart trying to fill the empty space that Abigail had left.  Instead he went with an old trick; one he rarely used now that he and Hannibal were honest with each other—redirection.

              “Are people not often nice to you?”

              She shook her head.

              “I’m a freak, and they know it.”

              How did this subject keep permeating _every sentence_ they spoke?

              “We don’t think so.” he said, knowing it would fall flat.

              She shrugged.

              “You don’t know me.”

              “Well.” he said, unable to retort her insecurities with the truth.  “We want to get to know you.” he said instead, but it was hollow, and her eyes didn’t lift from the table.  She said nothing after that, instead occupying her mouth with her milkshake.

 

              Simone knew her own situation very well.  When she and Will returned home, Mrs. Lutte was waiting with a smile on her face.

              “Great news, Simone!  Your father has been cleared.  I’m here to take you home.”

              Simone turned to Will, whose hands were full of her packages, with a face that simply said ‘told you so.’

              His brain raced.  Hannibal wasn’t home, or else he’d have handled this situation already.  But Will was just as capable of manipulating a situation to his desires.

              “Why don’t you come in for a moment, Mrs. Lutte?” he said.  She glanced down at her watch, and he stepped closer to her and spoke in that voice adults use when they don’t want children to be listening.

              “I need to speak with you, just for a moment.”

              She sighed heavily, nodded, and let Will open the door.  He dumped all the packages on the floor, then kindly asked Marie to start bringing them up to “Miss Halpert’s room.” 

              “Simone, why don’t you go with Marie for now.” he said.  “I’ll be up in a minute.”

              She obediently went, though her shoulders were slumped and all the cheer that had been on her face earlier in the ice cream shop was now gone.

              Will led Mrs. Lutte into the study.

              “I’m on a very tight schedule, Mr. Lecter…”

              “I’m aware, but you’re also responsible for the well-being of the children in your care.” he said.  She clamped her mouth closed tightly to avoid a heavy sigh.

              “Simone told me some disturbing things while we were out shopping today.” he said, putting as much of his real concern for her as he could onto his face.

              “Yes, I know about her father.” Mrs. Lutte replied, her exhausted face making her look more elderly than she was.  “I have removed Simone from his home several times.  But the courts rule the way they rule, and I have no power in the matter.”

              Will nodded, pretending to contemplate this, his mind racing to think.

              “Well, perhaps it would be in Simone’s best interest to have another advocate, in addition to you.” he said.  “As you are aware, my husband is a psychiatrist.  I’m certain he would be willing to treat Simone, free of charge, if you were willing to advocate that she needed such services.”

              Her mouth flew open to automatically shoot down the request out of habit, but then close before she spoke, and she actually considered it.

              “Many of our children have mental health support from the government.” she said.  “If Dr. Lecter truly was willing to lend his services to the state, I’m sure I could arrange that.  It would be a relief to me, actually, to have someone else looking out for her.”

              Will tried to hide the smirk in his lips with a false expression of relief.

              “Wonderful.” he said.  “I just didn’t want to send Simone away feeling like she had been abandoned.”

              Mrs. Lutte smiled knowingly at that.

              “I think she will take this news well.  However I still have to get approval for it; so let’s not mention it to her just now.  I’m certain you want to say goodbye?” 

              Will nodded, and let Mrs. Lutte upstairs to Simone’s room, which was now full of unopened packages containing everything she’d asked for: clothes, toys, books more geared towards her age, and even a hand-held video game player (Will would get Hannibal to agree to let her keep that, somehow).

              She was standing in the midst of it all, tears rolling down her face.  Will knelt and she ran to him, tossing her arms around his neck tightly.  He remained frozen for a moment, startled by the sudden display of affection, but then gingerly wrapped one arm around her back and pressed his other palm into her hair.

              “This was the best dream I ever had.” she sobbed into his neck.

              “This was not a dream, Simone.” he said quietly.  “This was real.” then he lowered his voice to the softest of whispers, so that Mrs. Lutte wouldn’t hear.  “We are not going to let you go so easily.”

              In his tone, he allowed the slightest hint of his predatory anger to show.  She stiffened, and pulled back, and gave him an incredulous look.  As Mrs. Lutte led her away with her hand on the little girls’ back, her stare remained fixed on Will’s face, her eyes studying him, curious, wondering.  Then she turned the corner and was gone from his sight.

              Will rose and remained rigid with anger.  He let it flow through him, though none of it showed on his features.  His face fell slack and became hard as marble, his fingers curled into tight fists as the rest of him stood absolutely, utterly still.

              Marie bustled into the room, intent on putting things away, but when she saw Master Lecter’s expression, she knew to turn and leave.  He heard her whisper to the rest of the staff not to bother the master in the little girl’s room.  Though their staff did not know what they were, they still recognized when it was time to leave them alone.  No one bothered Will as he stayed, frozen, in that spot for over an hour.

              When Hannibal finally came home, the staff mentioned to him that Will was in Simone’s room and “upset.”

              He appeared in the doorway, face concerned.  Will lifted his gaze and Hannibal’s entire demeanor changed when he saw the dark expression in his eyes.

              “I’ll send the staff home early.” Hannibal said, turning down the hall, unable to fully hide the jovial expression on his face.

 

              They knew the more dangerous streets of Paris almost as well as the people who lived on them.  Or technically not Paris, as right now they walked just outside the city limits.  Well, Hannibal was walking.  Will was practically stomping.  He’d done nothing but march for over forty minutes, block after block after block, passing run-down apartments, dark alleys, and vacant shops where they normally did their hunting.  He’d missed at least three opportunities for a good, clean, silent kill, but Hannibal was patient and knew he had to work through whatever was going on in his mind.  He would speak when he was ready.  And it was unwise to kill with an unclear head.

              Finally, Hannibal had had enough, stopped, and pushed Will’s back against a brick wall.  He lifted his fingers up and clasped his chin roughly, forcing him to look at him.

              “Enough.  You are not going to find anything here that will satisfy your urge to kill Mr. Halpert.” he said.            

              Will bared his teeth in a terrifying grimace, a face that Hannibal couldn’t help but be unabashedly attracted to.

              “We will not kill him.  She will.  We won’t take that from her.” Will snarled.

              “Of course not.  But we will help her, and be there, and that will provide a different level of satisfaction.  But that is not tonight.”

              Will struggled against Hannibal’s grasp and he pushed back all the harder, pinning him to the wall.  He relented, closing his eyes, and relaxed a bit.

              “Then you should choose, tonight.” Will said softly.  “If nothing will satisfy me, let it satisfy you.”

              Hannibal’s eyes darted to the side for a moment, he nodded with approval, and released Will.

              Three minutes later, he eyed a laundromat that said it was closed, but all the lights in the back were on.  The sounds of shouting were coming from the back, and they walked down the alley, pausing outside an open side door that peered into a very messy office.

              “I’ve been working for twelve hours!  It’s past 1 o’clock.  I need to get home.” a young woman said, her voice indeed sounding like it was exhausted.

              “If you leave now, before you finish folding, you will be fired.” an older woman, her tones harsh and unforgiving. 

              “But two people called in sick today!  I cannot do the work of three people!”

              “Margarette, I’m tired of your excuses.  You either work or you don’t work.  If you don’t work, you don’t come back.  Now _fold_.”

              With an exasperated sigh, and the slam of a door, Margarette left the office. 

              Hannibal marched right in, the face of the middle-aged, muscular woman snapping up to glare at him.

              “Laundromat’s closed.” she snipped.

              “Such an uncouth way to greet a person.  You don’t even know who I am.” Hannibal said.  She sighed and rolled her eyes, putting on hand on her hip.

              “Who are you.” she asked in a deadpan voice.  Hannibal leaned forward, a wide grin splitting his face to reveal his teeth.  Her attention was so wholly focused on him that she didn’t even notice Will slink in behind her until it was too late.

              “The last person you will ever speak to.  Such a pity our exchange wasn’t more pleasant.”

              Will had the syringe open and plunged into her neck before she could reply.  She was large and so it took some more seconds than usual to work, her body stumbling backwards as she tried to fight her unseen assailant.  She tripped over the leg of her chair and fell to the floor, a large stack of papers falling on top of her unconscious form. 

              By the time Margarette came rushing in to see what the noise was about, there was no one

there to be found.

 

              They owned several abandoned farmhouses and an old mill, all under false names, of course.  Hannibal drove to one of the houses, which looked like nothing more than a place to get away in the countryside; cedar-shingled walls set upon an old stone foundation, sagging a bit but still plenty sturdy. 

              The entrance to the basement where they kept their tools was not hidden, but locked, to keep out any wandering or lost curious onlookers, should they ever come.

              Hannibal finished securing the rope around the manager’s ankles as they sat her in a chair and waited for her to come around.  Her hands were not tied; there was no need and in fact doing so would make the meat too tough, according to Hannibal.

               She came to slowly, her eyes fluttering open and then closed again a few times, before they flew wide open in shock.  Before her stood a crazed, angry, and very naked Will, with nothing but a knife in his hands.

              She tried to stand, tripped on the rope, fell back into the chair, and stood again.

              “You should have been nicer to your staff.” he said, and reached up to slice his blade cleanly and deeply through her throat.  Her blood spewed forth, and Will closed his eyes in ecstasy as he felt the hot rivulets spray across his body and flow down his skin in rivers.  She made a quick gurgling sound that lasted a few seconds, and then was silent, the carcass falling back into the chair.

              With a grunt of rage Will moved forward, driving his blade into her chest and then her stomach, slicing her open, letting the blood pour over his hands, soak over his legs and splash onto his feet.  The warm life flowed out of her and into him; the deep, golden light that burned into a brilliant amber when he murdered shining within him.  Will felt a buzz of pleasure rush through him and knew it was Hannibal’s;  the one mind that he allowed to live within his head besides himself, the one person whom he was glad to share his empathy with.

              Will dove his hand into her torso, fishing around for her liver.  Hannibal had made an excellent organ remover out of him, and he knew exactly how to do it now without ruining the meat.  He cut it from her and pulled it out, blood dripping down his arms to his elbows and held it up to his face, inhaling the scent of rich, red iron.

              He turned, his entire body drenched in blood, to find Hannibal’s eyes slowly raking over Will’s blood-drenched body, drinking in the sight of him.  Will’s eyes burned with a hot fire as Hannibal walked towards him, still fully dressed, his hands covered in gloves as he reached them out to gently take the liver from Will’s hands.

              He moved over to the countertop where he prepared raw meat, with fresh, clean plastic laid out for cleaning this new kill.  He whistled as he turned on the sink, washing away the excess blood, cutting away the fat, sealing it in plastic.  He flipped open the top of the freezer and placed the liver inside, in time to turn around and receive the kidney Will had extracted, with excellent precision.

              For the next hour they worked, until all the organs Hannibal wanted were removed.  Then he yanked on the pulley system, stringing the carcass up by the rope wrapped around its ankles to drain overnight, the rest to be prepared in the morning.

              Will stood, naked and drenched in blood, in the center of the basement, the inner fire within him too hot to let him shiver even in the chill of the basement.  When Hannibal was finished, he removed his gloves, tossing them into the trash, and turned to face Will, his eyes burning with fire.

              He unbuttoned his collar, his jacket already removed so he could work, and slowly started to undo his shirt.  Will watched him silently, closing his eyes now and then to feel the blood crackling as it dried on his skin; it was probably his most favorite sensation, other than Hannibal’s skin upon his.

              When Hannibal was finally also naked, he stalked towards Will with dark, burning eyes, reaching up with both hands to press his palms against Will’s bloody cheeks ,his lips not two inches away.

              “Do you feel better, my vicious beast?”

              Will looked up at the destroyed corpse, then at the blood on the counter from where her organs had been prepared.

              “I feel…sated.  Temporarily.”

              “That will do, then.” Hannibal said, tilting his head to press a violent kiss against Will’s lips, his teeth raking over his tongue.  Will groaned and opened for him, pulling his body close, Hannibal’s hands wandering over the dried blood that covered him, his nails scraping it off of Will’s skin in stripes.  Hannibal’s tongue slid across Will’s cheek, then down his neck, lapping at the blood, sucking it into his mouth as Will tilted his head back in pleasure.

              Finally losing himself to the moment, Hannibal fell to his knees, sucking Will’s cock deep into his mouth, hungrily swallowing the blood that covered it, massaging him with his tongue until his knees wavered.  Will’s fingers gripped Hannibal’s hair with ferocity, yanking on it to force him down, even as Hannibal’s hands bruised Will’s hips to pull him closer.

              He scraped his teeth along Will’s length as he sucked up, making Will shudder, his moan of pleasure echoing through the basement.  He started to thrust his hips forward, driving his dick into Hannibal’s hungry mouth, the golden light from his kill shifting into the fire of passion. 

              “Hannibal, I want you in me.” he managed to mutter, but that didn’t slow Hannibal’s mouth whatsoever, his lips and tongue still making a meal of Will’s cock, drawing him deep into his throat, swallowing around the head as his throat constricted around his flesh.

              “Hannibal!” Will cried, yanking his head away forcefully by his hair.  Hannibal’s eyes burned dark as he looked up at his lover, and Will snarled, falling to his knees to shove his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth.  He pushed forward roughly, toppling Hannibal down onto his back; proper, pristine, organized Hannibal Lecter lying naked on a dirt floor, covered in blood.

              Will walked to the workbench and yanked open a drawer, pulling out a bottle of lubricant.  He returned and sank down over Hannibal, straddling his hips, slowly rising and falling to slide Hannibal’s dick behind him, between his ass cheeks, as he slicked it with the lube on his palm.  Hannibal’s head tilted back and he moaned softly, finally letting the last of his control fall away.  Will purred softly and rose, sliding Hannibal into him with his thumb and sinking fully down immediately.

              “My impatient, beautiful monster.” Hannibal purred, lifting his hand to stroke through Will’s hair.  Will smiled down at him, teeth bared and vicious, as he rose and sank down again, groaning as Hannibal’s cock pressed inside him.  He rocked his hips, holding nothing back, shamelessly seeking out the pleasure Hannibal gave him.  He pressed his palms against Hannibal’s torso, every toned muscle in his body flexing as he drove Hannibal into his ass repeatedly, pulling nearly all the way up before sinking with force.

              Hannibal watched him; observed his eyelids as they fluttered closed, his nostrils as they flared, his cheeks as they tensed and relaxed.  His hands rested on Will’s thighs, feeling the heat of his skin as he brought pleasure to them both.  When he was ready, Hannibal moved his hand to circle around Will’s dick, his palm pressing warm and tight around it.  He started to pump, and Will’s hips moved faster in time, his soft groans growing louder and less restrained.  Hannibal let his own voice join his in pleasure, his eyes locked on Will’s face, their gazes meeting whenever Will managed to open his eyes.

              “Everything about you is perfect.” Hannibal managed to whisper, his body singing now as Will worked his ass up and down his cock.  The pleasure rang through him, the vibration building through his nerves until the pressure rose up and over the top.  Hannibal’s hand stilled on Will as he lifted his hips quickly then, driving himself into Will, pressing as deeply as he could into him.  His orgasm overcame him in waves, that careful voice losing every bit of control as his cry echoed through the basement. 

              Before his ecstasy even ended, he jerked his hand quickly against Will’s dick, squeezing him tightly, surrounding him with heat and forcefulness.  Will’s chin fell forward against his chest, his eyes unable to open now, completely in surrender to the sensations of killing and having sex together.  With a soft cry and a deep tremble, Will came, his white hot cum spilling over Hannibal’s hand, warm and welcomed.

              Hannibal quickly brought his hand up to his mouth, sucking every ounce of it in, not wasting the chance to consume a part of Will.  Even after it was gone he still sucked, drawing every finger into his mouth repeatedly, until exhaustion overtook Will and he collapsed on top of him, chests pressed together.

              “Will, I’m too old to sleep on the floor.” Hannibal said, and Will grunted, forcing himself up.  He rose off of Hannibal with a wince, then reached down to help Hannibal up to his feet.  Hannibal pulled him into a deep kiss then, his tongue driving heavily into his mouth, the taste of blood and cum loud and invasive.

              They finally managed to make it all the way up to the second floor, where they showered and collapsed into the bed where Will was asleep in seconds, and Hannibal not long after.


	6. Plans and Lessons

“I wish there was anything more I could do.” Mrs. Lutte said, genuine sorrow in her voice. 

              “I understand that you did all within your power.” Hannibal replied into the telephone.  “We are grateful for your efforts.”

              He set the receiver back in its cradle and raised his eyes to meet the gaze of a barely contained beast.

              “Her father refused to sign the consent forms for psychiatric treatment.” Hannibal said without emotion.

              The only visible response Will gave was to curl his fists slightly tighter.

              “Help me destroy him, Hannibal.” he snarled, his voice a low, menacing growl.  “Help me ruin him; utterly empty him until she is ready to take his life.”

              The corner of Hannibal’s lips upturned in a delighted smile.

              “With pleasure.”

 

              They waited outside the Halpert’s apartment again, parked in a different vehicle than the one Simone knew, and farther back along the street now, so she would not notice them.  They watched her come home from school, head down, hands clutched together in front of herself, a forlorn expression on her face.  Will’s fist tightened with rage, and it was Hannibal’s calm, reassuring hand on his bicep that relaxed him back into a thinking state.

              Evening came, and there was still no sign of Andre Halpert.  The sky turned pink and the shadows grew long.  Will stared at the door of Simone’s building with singular focus, leaving the actual surveillance to Hannibal, as he could not properly concentrate.

              Around 9:30, Andre’s car pulled around the corner and parked in the street.  He stumbled from it, drunk, and Will and Hannibal were quickly behind him.  With a well-placed blow to the temple he was unconscious, and within two minutes they had soundlessly dumped his unconscious form in the trunk of the car, practiced predators that they were.  Andre Halpert disappeared from the streets of Paris without a sound or trace of evidence, his kidnappers calmly discussing which of their several properties to take him to.

              “I think the cages at the mill are most secure.” Hannibal said.  “Since we intend to keep him unharmed.”

              Will nodded, his jaw set tightly with anger and also worry.

              “She’s going to spend the night alone…”

              Hannibal’s palm covered the back of Will’s hand warmly.

              “She is better off alone than with this animal.” he said.  “Believe me, she will count it a blessing.”

              Will exhaled slowly, letting his eyes flutter closed as he knew Hannibal was right.  The plan was perfect.  In the morning, Hannibal would call Mrs. Lutte and inquire of Simone, and request that she make a personal visit to check up on her.  Hopefully then, Simone would confess her father had not returned all night, and she would be right back home with them, for as long as they saw fit to keep Mr. Halpert their captive.

              It was the first step of a brilliant plan, one that Hannibal assured Will would satisfy every one of his desires to inflict suffering on Simone’s father.

              They pulled up to the old millhouse, Will unchaining the metal door to the cellar while Hannibal tossed Mr. Halpert over his shoulder.  With his head tied up in a cloth bag he could have been any prey, and it all became just routine.  They had him shackled to the stone wall in one of their cells still unconscious, a plate of sandwiches and a gallon of water on the floor beside him, within reach.  Hands and feet bound, then chained, then locked behind metal bars, none of their victims had ever come close to escaping.

              Will felt a rush of adrenaline as he locked the gate.

              “It’s difficult not to kill him now.” he said.

              He felt Hannibal’s fingers comb gently through his hair in reassurance.

              “Our killing is going to become much more methodical and calculated in the near future, in order for this plan to work.  I know how you love spontaneity.  Will you be able to control yourself, my beautiful monster?”

              Will inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly.

              “Yes, for her.”

              Hannibal pressed a soft kiss to his temple, and they left, the metal door clanging and chained shut before Mr. Halpert even came to.

 

              The next day Will paced in Hannibal’s office, looking exactly like the vicious predator he was, staring at the phone after he’d made the call to Mrs. Lutte.

              “Patience, darling.” Hannibal said. 

              When it finally rang, Will jumped, and Hannibal held up a hand.  He let it ring twice before calmly lifting the receiver to his ear.

              “Dr. Lecter.” he said.

              “Oh, thank heavens!” Mrs. Lutte’s voice said, clearly sounding distressed.  “Dr. Lecter, I went to check up on Simone as you asked, and I am so glad I did!  The poor thing’s father never came home last night.  She’s been alone since she came home from school yesterday.”

              Without a single change in his demeanor, still sitting perfectly casually in his leather armchair, Hannibal’s tone changed to mimic a well-adjusted, concerned adult.

              “Oh dear.  That is hardly an ideal circumstance.  Has her father at least come home now?”

              “No, and I called the police, and they’re searching, because if it was intentional it’s child abandonment and a crime, and if not intentional, he may be in trouble.  But there’s been no word.”

              Hannibal ignored Will’s piercing eyes and inspected his fingernails as he spoke.

              “What will become of Simone, then?” he asked, deep yet calm concern in his voice, but not on his face.  Will knew he was only wearing his thickest of masks—he knew Hannibal actually did care about Simone’s welfare.

              “Well I was hoping she was still welcome in your home.  I hate to ask on such short notice…”

              “Of course she is welcome.  We would be delighted to have her.” Hannibal said.  _Then_ he lifted his eyes to look into Will’s face, and met his smile.

              “Wonderful, wonderful.  I will bring her over in an hour, then.”

              “Lovely.  We will be waiting.”

              Hannibal had barely placed the receiver back in its cradle before Will was tackling his face with kisses.  Hannibal’s hands flew up to clasp his shoulders and he didn’t push Will away, but instead guided his mouth into a more refined kiss, slower and deeper, until he gently pushed him back a few inches to look into his eyes.

              “I take actions that I never imagined I would in ten lifetimes, because of you.” he said.  Will’s smile spread up to his eyes and he laughed.

              “However much you think I’ve changed you, Hannibal, I assure you, you’ve changed me more.” he said, climbing back up onto his feet.  Hannibal stood with him, brushing the wrinkles from his three-piece suit. 

              “Well.  We have an hour to prepare for our charge’s arrival.  I suggest we use to make her feel more welcome.”

              When the doorbell rang, both the Lecters were there to greet their guests.  When Simone saw them, her face lit up in a smile.

              “Will!” she cried, throwing her arms tightly around his middle.  He hugged her back, his palm crushing her long, dark braid into her back.

              “I’m glad to see you too, Simone.” he said.  “Welcome back.”

              The smile on Mrs. Lutte’s constantly tired face was refreshing.  Hannibal, ever the gracious host, invited her inside, but she explained that she had to be getting back, she was so busy.  She had him sign a few forms and then her car was heading away down their long driveway, towards the main gate to the property.

              Simone pulled back and looked up at Will with a tiny, restrained smile on her face.

              “I knew I would get to see you again when my dad didn’t come home.” she said softly, and then lowered her voice to just above a whisper, “I hope he crashed his car and died, so I never have to leave.”  Her eyes cast down to the floor as she said it, knowing she should feel ashamed for having such evil thoughts.

              Will smiled at her endearingly, and Hannibal chuckled, reaching out to gently lift her chin with a curled finger, not much different from the way he did so to Will.

              “We hope the same thing, darling.” he said, and Will saw the flicker of confusion across Simone’s face.  She’d clearly expected to be corrected, or even scolded.  Had this been any other house, she would have been.

              “Now come, why don’t you see how we have prepared your room?” Hannibal said, straightening.  The confusion on her face vanished and she curiously followed behind him as he walked up the stairs.

              When they opened the door, the bright smile that lit up her features was worth every second of plotting and patience to Will.  Gone from the bookshelf were the old medical and financial books, replaced by the books and toys and stuffed animals Simone had picked out the day she’d gone shopping with Will.  She turned to look up at both of them, wondering if this was real.

              “Go check in the closet.” Will suggested, and true to her nature, she walked slowly, deliberately, though somehow carrying an air of excitement with her as well.  She opened the double-folding doors to discover all of her new clothes hanging in perfect neat rows, arranged according to season and then color.  She turned around to stare at both of them again, her eyes wide with disbelief.

              “You kept my things?”

              “Of course.” Hannibal said.  “They are your things.  They belong to you, just as you belong with us.”

              It was the first time Will really detected a hint of emotion in Hannibal’s voice.  He reached out and squeezed his hand, entwining their fingers together.  Hannibal allowed it, and even squeezed back, showing just how much Simone was _not_ a guest, but a resident of their home in his sight.

              Simone slowly closed the closet doors, so gently they didn’t make a sound, then turned and softly walked back to face the both of them.

              “Thank you.” she said softly.  “So much.  I hope I will get to stay longer than one night, this time.”

              “Something tells me that is very likely.” Hannibal said gently, reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder.  “Now, what would you like to do this evening?”

 

              Within an hour, the three of them were settled comfortably in the sitting room.  Will was relaxing in the armchair, his glasses pulled down to the end of his nose, reading a book about criminal profiling.  Hannibal sat on the long day-couch, legs crossed, sketchpad resting on one knee as his brows crinkled with the slightest hint of concentration.  Simone had started off reading one of her own books, but had slowly inched herself closer to Hannibal, trying to peer at what he was drawing.

              “You may sit and watch, if you like.” he said.  She slid close to him then, sitting beside him, near enough to see but not so close to impede the movement of his elbow as he worked, her eyes following the quick movements of the pencil across the page, her face almost completely passive as she became absorbed in Hannibal’s work.

              Over an hour went by and none of them spoke, all content to relax quietly.  Simone did not fidget or fuss or even shift her body; she sat nearly perfectly still, her only motion the slight change in the tilt of her head as she watched Hannibal work.

              “You make him look more beautiful than he really is.” she said softly.  Though it was the first spoken word in the room in over an hour, her voice was not intrusive, and in fact was soft enough that it took Will a moment to pull his mind out of his book and register what she had said.

              “Yes, well.  That’s what happens when you love someone.  It makes you focus more on their better qualities, and less on their faults.”

              Will struggled not to blush as he realized Hannibal had been drawing him again.  Regardless of how frequently he did it, Will could never entirely shake the heat that rose to his face under Hannibal’s gaze.

              “And the opposite is also true.” Hannibal continued, in a tone that Will almost didn’t recognize, because he hadn’t heard it in over ten years.  The tone he used when he was _teaching_.

              “When you dislike someone, they become more and more ugly to you.” he replied.  “Which is why I greatly despise people without manners.”

              “And why I think my dad is so ugly and gross.” Simone said.  Hannibal turned his face just slightly towards her, the tiniest hint of pride in his voice.

              “Exactly.”

              Will had to struggle to keep from trembling.  She was so much like him it was unsettling. 

              “Will and I work hard to improve the beauty of the world, by removing those who would diminish it.” Hannibal said, his tone almost affectionate, almost tender.

              Simone nodded, as if this all made perfect sense to her.

              “Right, by putting bad guys in jail.”

              “Yes, exactly.” Hannibal didn’t miss a single heartbeat in the conversation.  What he said was, after all, the truth.  And it also wasn’t.

              Will had to struggle to keep the heat in his cheeks from moving to other parts of him, then, as he found himself reminded of just how incredibly attracted he was to the master manipulator that was Hannibal.

              “Did you…” Simone began, and then her voice faded and she looked down at her hands.  Hannibal put down his pencil and curled his finger under her chin, lifting her eyes to look into his.  His gaze held her even more powerfully than his finger, and Will squirmed for her even as she held herself perfectly still, because he knew the power of that gaze.

              “Simone, in this house you are _always_ welcome to speak your mind.  So long as you use polite and thoughtful speech, you will never be reprimanded for what you say.”

              Will watched the two of them, riveted as they were locked in each other’s sights, neither one blinking, neither one moving.  Neither one backing down.

              Simone inhaled slowly, never moving her eyes from Hannibal’s and spoke in a strong tone.

              “Did you really mean it when you said I could have art lessons?”

              “Absolutely.” Hannibal said, moving his finger up to slide a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear.  Their eyes parted and Will saw her relax, just a tad.  “I always mean everything I say.”

              Will had to bite his tongue strongly at that one.  It was at least true concerning art lessons.

              Simone’s eyes turned back to the drawing, and then so did Hannibal’s.

              “I want to draw as good as you some day.”

              “You want to draw as _well_ as I some day.”

              She nodded, accepting the correction with eagerness. 

              “How long did it take?  For you to be able to draw this goo…well?”

              Will saw the tiniest smile of pride prick at the corner of Hannibal’s lips.

              “Many years.” he said.  “And still, I cannot capture his radiance.”

              Will rolled his eyes.  Simone saw and giggled softly, and he turned to give her a wink.  Hannibal frowned in affectionate disapproval.  She gave Will a soft smile.

              “You guys are so different.”

              “Quite.” Hannibal agreed.  “But we have more in common than it would appear at first glance.”

              The conversation returned back to art, then, as Hannibal explained about contour and proportions, interpretation vs reality.  Whether Simone understood every word he said or not it was impossible to tell; she gave her full attention for over an hour, before her eyes started to droop and her head started to nod.

              “Alright, I believe it’s time for bed.” Hannibal said, placing the drawing pad down on the end table.  Sleepily, Simone nodded in agreement and rose to her feet.

              “Is Marie going to help me get ready again?  I like her.”

              “Of course.  Let’s go seek her out.” Hannibal said, rising as well.  They both walked out of the sitting room and Will found himself staring at the empty doorway after them for a long while, a contented smile pushing hard at his cheeks.

             

              The door to the cellar clanged as it opened, slamming roughly against the stone wall seconds before sure, confident footfalls clacked down the wooden staircase.  Mr. Halpert sat up quickly, the rattle of his chains echoing throughout the cellar, the bag that had been on his head tossed angrily into the corner of his cell.

              “It’s about time!  I’ve been _starving_ , I’ve pissed myself, I need to take a shit, _now_!  This is no way to treat a prisoner!” he shouted.  Hannibal walked into his field of vision silently, standing in front of him, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

              “If I didn’t have another use for you, you’d be dead by now.” he replied calmly, and Andre’s mouth, which had been open to yell something else, shut itself.

              “You’re…you’re not a loan shark?”

              Hannibal snorted.

              “What do you want with me, then?”

              Hannibal didn’t move a single cell of his body.

              “More importantly, it’s what Will wants.” he said, his voice perfectly calm and emotionless.  Mr. Halpert’s brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to think of anyone he’d pissed off whose name was Will.

              Hannibal snapped forward so quickly, his arm flying through the bars with such speed that Andre barely had time to blink before his shirt was roughly bunched in Hannibal’s fist and his face was being slammed up against the bars.

              “You have made him upset.” he said ,his voice low and dark.  “And I do not handle it well when he is upset.”

              Mr. Halpert’s eyes barely had time to widen before the knife was out, slicing off the tip of his earlobe in one quick motion, because it was kept perfectly sharpened.  He screamed and backed away, clutching his ear, and Hannibal let him, his chains clattering as he fell to his ass and blood dripped down his cheek. 

              Hannibal brought the tiny bit of flesh that rested on the knife up to his lips and waited until Andre was with it enough to understand what he was watching.  He sucked it into his mouth and chewed, never taking his eyes off the animal’s face, tilting his head slightly to the side as he observed the emotions of shock and horror and revulsion.

              “Disgusting.” he replied.  “You haven’t bathed in weeks.”

              He turned to one of the refrigerators that lined the walls and rummaged through it, until he found a meat lasagna he’d prepared that hadn’t come out to his expectations.  He unwrapped it and slid the glass dish across the floor under the bars into the cell, and Andre dove into it cold, with his fingers, eating like the animal he was.

              “In answer to your question, your daughter.” he said.

              Andre didn’t cease chewing, nor did he bother to wipe his face as he looked up from his kneeling position on the floor.

              “What we want from you.  Your daughter.” Hannibal repeated.  Andre swallowed and his face became sour.

              “Then take her.” he said.  “If that’s all you want; you can have her.  I won’t fight you for her or anything.  Let me go, then.”

              Hannibal slowly bent his knees until he was in a crouch, Andre backing away as he did so, taking the lasagna with him as he hunched against the far wall.  Hannibal cocked his head.

              “I’ll let her know that’s how you feel.” he said, and rose, wordlessly climbing back up the stairs and slammed the metal door shut with a clang.

 

* * *

 

              True to his word, Hannibal hired one of the most renowned drawing teachers in Paris, for an hour each week on Tuesdays.  In addition to that, he had another drafting table delivered to the sitting room, one that was adjustable and could be lowered to Simone’s height, then raised again as she grew.  He put it facing the bay window opposite Will’s fly-making workspace, and on evenings when her instructor came, the three of them sat at their respective places, silently working.

              Simone was a hungry student, sapping up instruction wherever she found it.  By their third meal her table manners were better than Will’s.  By the end of the week, Hannibal had her able to identify ten key spices that he used in his cooking simply by taste.  Her eagerness to please both warmed Will’s heart and also soured it; he knew that she felt if she made a mistake, she would no longer be wanted in their home. 

              When the weekend came, and they had the daylight available to them, Will asked her if she’d like to learn to fish.

              “Oh, yes!  I know it’s your favorite, Mr. Will.”

              He laughed.

              “Please, just call me Will.”

              She looked up at him with a bright smile.

              “You’re too special to me to be ‘just Will’.” she replied.  His lower lip trembled and he had to struggle to keep his face from showing the depth of his emotion.

              She paid attention to his instruction as intently as she listened to her drawing teacher and to Hannibal.  He demonstrated several kinds of knots, explaining the purpose of each, and teaching her how to secure the fly to the line.  It was difficult for her at first, but she kept trying, until she was able to at least get the fly secure.

              “Now the most enjoyable, difficult, and important part of fly-fishing is the cast.” Will said.  “There are many techniques and it can take years to master just one.”

              She sat gracefully down on the bank, her dark plaid skirt flowing out to just cover her folded knees as Will waded into the water.  He demonstrated the most basic cast twice, and explained that the purpose was to make the fly appear as much like an insect on the water as possible, to entice the fish to bite. 

              She attempted a few casts herself, but it didn’t come naturally to her and she became frustrated.  After that, she was content to sit on the bank of the river watching Will, her eyes occasionally wandering to take in the surroundings of the stream; the leaves being pulled by the flowing water, the birds high up in the branches, the clouds rolling by.

              When Will had caught the fifth fish, he waded up onto the bank and glanced up at the setting sun.

              “I think we have enough for today.” he said.  He reached a hand down and she took it as he pulled her to her feet.  “What do you say we gut these and start preparing them for dinner?”

              Her eyes grew wide with excitement.

              “Are _you_ going to cook tonight, Mr. Will?”

              A slow smile spread over his face.

              “While I do assist Hannibal in the kitchen sometimes, no, he is the master chef.  But I do help him supply the meat for the table.”

              They trudged up the hill towards the fishing shed, which was so large it could almost be called a cabin.  Will set the bucket on the outside workbench, a long, wooden table that had numerous grooves in it from years of being used to gut fish.

              “First, we remove the scales.” Will said, reaching into the bucket with his bare hands.  “It’s wise to wear gloves, to protect you from the fins.  They look soft and graceful in the water, but they are actually sharp and dangerous.”

              Simone listened without speaking, as was her way, her attention fully consumed as he held the fish firmly in his left hand and began scraping it with the dull knife in his right.

              “Start at the tail, then scrape up towards the head.  Short, quick strokes, and it takes some practice to learn how hard to press.  Too light, you leave scales behind.  Too hard, and you cut the skin and ruin the fish.”

              When Will was finished he pulled up the hose nozzle that was attached to the side of the table just for this purpose and stepped back, rinsing away the scales from the fish and from the table.  He then rinsed off  put the scraping knife and replaced it into his tool box, pulling out a much sharper one.  He carefully watched Simone’s expression as her eyes lingered on the blade.  A deep, carnal smolder ignited in the most primal part of him.  He studied her face as he firmly grasped behind the gills of the fish.

              “You insert the blade behind its belly, into the vent just below the tail.” he said, the tone of his voice much darker than it had been a moment before.  If it was possible, Simone attention was even more fully held, her body entirely still, her eyes not daring to blink.  Wordlessly, expertly, Will slid the blade up the fish’s belly, slicing open the skin, blood oozing out onto the table and over his fingers.  With perfect practice he pushed his fingers inside, pulling out its entrails, the blood now soaking the hairs on his hand and getting under his fingernails.

              “Get the guts bucket there.” he said, gesturing with his chin.  Simone struggled to pull her eyes away, and Will burned with an emotion that wasn’t love, but that was the closest thing he had to it.  She might have been like Hannibal in mannerisms; but in murder, she was like _Will_.

              She brought the bucket and set it on the table beside the fish, her eyes immediately going back to the blood, her hand reaching out to touch.

              “Here.” he said, grasping his bloody hand around hers, pulling her fingers into the belly of the fish.  “Feel around for the organs.  Pull them out.” he said, feeling her hand explore the innards of the fish, grasping where he guided her to.  She clasped around the entrails and pulled, freeing them from the cavity of the fish and dumping them out onto the table.

              “Excellent.” he said.  He reached in after her, pulling out the other organs, explaining what each one was as they worked.  “This is the liver.  Tastes delicious in…some animals, nasty in fish.  So we remove it.  This is the swim bladder, also not edible.”

              She nodded, her eyes wide and bright, captivated by Will’s hands as he worked.

              “And then we cut off the head, just behind the gills.” he said.  With a quick, sure chop, the head was detached.  He placed it in her hands and she turned in over in her fingers, examining it, curious, enraptured.

              Will picked up the hose again and rinsed the inside of the fish, then the table and the knife, and dropped the fish into the cooler packed with ice.  He then turned to Simone and held the knife out towards her, handle out, point towards himself.

              Her eyes rose to meet his and they locked, neither moving, neither speaking.  Without a word being spoken she slowly lifted her hand and clasped her bloodied fingers around the handle, gently pulling it towards herself as Will let go.

              “Show me what you’ve learned.” he said.  She nodded with fierce determination, turning to the new fish that Will placed on the table before her.

 

              “She was brilliant.” Will must have said for the fourth time, as he and Hannibal got ready for bed in the master bathroom.  “Entranced by the blood, the way I am.  Methodical and careful, the way you are.  Hung on my every word.  Followed every direction.”

              Hannibal said little, preferring to simply give Will adoring glances in the mirror as he rubbed lotion into his back for him.

              “It’s like…it’s like she was _made_ for us.” he said.  “ _Of_ us.  If we could create a child of our own, she couldn’t be more perfect.  How did we get so lucky?  How did we find her?”

              Hannibal leaned his face around to press his nose deeply into Will’s neck, his voice muffled as he spoke into his skin, planting gentle kisses along his throat.

              “You forget you have a knack for knowing the mind of others.” Hannibal said.  “You knowing who she was from one glance at a crime scene was not an accident, Will.  You were drawn to her, by her work.”

              Will’s breath shuddered out of him as Hannibal placed kisses around the shell of his ear.  He looked up and met his eyes in the mirror.

              “I haven't felt this happy, and this afraid, since the days when you courted me.” Will confessed.  Hannibal stood at his full height again and rested his chin atop Will’s head, moving his fingers to massage into his shoulders.  He tried to get up and Hannibal shoved him back down onto the stool, his fingers working the tense muscles.

              “Fear does not become you.” he said.  “Tell me what you fear, Will, so I can eliminate it.”

              His eyes darted back and forth over the counter in the powder room as he tried to put words to his emotions.

              “I fear her getting hurt.  I don’t know how.  I know her father can’t get to her.  I don’t know who else would want to harm her…”

              “You fear her getting _caught_.”

              Will’s eyes flew up to meet Hannibal’s gaze, which pierced into the back of his skull even through a reflection.

              “Yes.”

              “Well.  We have several plans for any scenario in which that might occur.  We’ve thought of everything.”

              “Hannibal, it’s not possible to think of _everything…_ ”

              “We’ve thought of everything that is likely to occur.  I have much more experience in this area than you.  Please, dear William, trust me.”

              Will sighed then, and closed his eyes, and let the tension leave his shoulders.  He leaned back against Hannibal’s bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin radiate into him.

              “How is he doing, by the way?”

              A vicious grin split Hannibal’s face.

              “Horrifically.”

              Will’s eyes slid open, a malicious, evil smile spreading on his lips.

              “Perfect.” he said.  He rose, and this time Hannibal allowed him to.  He turned and pressed their lips together hungrily, wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s back.  “Make love to me.” Will whispered in his ear, and Hannibal needed no further encouragement than that.


	7. First Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence and gore: The first section of this chapter (above the first set of stars) involves the graphic and gory description of the cruel treatment of Mr. Halpert while he is imprisoned in the basement. It's more violent than other parts of this story so I felt I should put a warning for those who might want to skip it.

The metal door to the basement clanged loudly against the stone wall as it opened, this time two sets of footsteps descending upon the prisoner huddled in the corner.  He scrabbled to the bars and pulled himself to his feet, his body now covered in dirt from having lain on the earthen floor.  If it was possible, he smelled worse, having soiled himself and slept in the same clothes for nearly two weeks.

              “Please!  Whatever you want, I’ll give it, please, either let me go or kill me…”

              His mouth clicked shut when he saw Hannibal was not alone.

              “Please, he’s kept me here for months, you have to let me out, please _help_ me, you have no idea what kind of monster…”

              Will reached a hand in through the bars, grabbed a fistful of his dirty, sweaty hair, and yanked it out by the roots.  Andre screamed, shrinking away and hiding against the far wall.

              “Of course I do.” Will said, opening his hand above the metal bowl Hannibal held out for him, letting the clump of hair float down into it.  “I married him.”

              Somehow, Andre managed an even more horrified expression.

              “What do you _want_ …”

              “I already told you what we want.” Hannibal said, in a playful and delighted voice.  Will’s heart bloomed with affection at that voice, that voice reserved only for those who were never going to live to remember it…other than Will.

              “Go on, tell him.” Hannibal said, and Andre looked as confused as he was petrified.  “Tell Will what you said when I told you what we want from you.”

              Andre’s face contorted in concentration as he tried to remember back to the first ‘conversation’ he’d had with Hannibal.

              “My…daughter?” his eyes widened with horror.  “Oh God, don’t hurt her!  Oh please leave her alone…”

              Hannibal snorted, one side of his nose twitching in disgust as he turned his back on Andre’s pleading form to walk over to the workspace with the bowl of hair.

              “That is not what you said the first time.” he said.

              “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry!  I didn’t know you were a _lunatic_ then…”

              Will stood absolutely still, completely silent, watching, listening.

              “I told him we wanted his daughter, and we said we could have her.  Didn’t care at all what became of her, so long as he was set free.”

              Will’s upper lip rose, revealing his teeth in a sneer.

              “I expected no less from this garbage.” he replied.  “I’m also finished talking to him.”

              “Please, I…”

              Before another word was out of his mouth, a knife that Hannibal had thrown lodged itself into the dirt wall behind Andre’s head.

              “He said he was finished talking to you.” Hannibal said calmly, without a hint of emotion in his voice.  “That also means he is finished _listening_ to you.  Since we need to keep you alive for now, I suggest you remain silent.”

              Andre nodded, cowering in the corner.  Will’s eyes raked over him, images of Simone in the same position on her bed, nearly every night from her nightmares, and he was only slightly satisfied.  The animal was only _beginning_ to get a taste of his own medicine.  But they had only started.

              Will turned his back to Andre to face Hannibal.

              “Where’s the bit of flesh and blood you collected?” he asked, walking over to the workstation.  Hannibal’s shoulders hunched just a hair at the question.

              “Hannibal…”

              “You know I can’t help myself.”

              Will tried to glare, but a flirtatious, adoring smile pricked at the corner of his lips instead.  He reached up a hand and put it to Hannibal’s cheek, turning his face towards him.

              “You promised you wouldn’t eat the evidence.”

              “And _you_ promised to never bring home any more strays, and yet, here we are.”

              One side of Will’s mouth crooked up into a full-blown smile, and he pressed a chaste, long kiss to Hannibal’s lips.

              “I’ll get some more.” he said, sliding a sharp knife from their wall of tools and another metal bowl.  He walked towards the cage and motioned for Andre to come.

              “You can make this easy or hard on yourself, but I’ll get my bit of flesh one way or the other.”

              Andre only stared at him in horror.

              Will rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers.

              “I said _heel_.”

              The command in Will’s voice was powerful, echoing even in the small space of the basement, and Andre dared not disobey.  Fighting against his own instincts to shrink away, he crawled to the edge of the bars within reach of Will’s hands.

              “Give me a finger.”

              Andre’s face blanched with horror, and Will rolled his eyes.

              “I’m not going to _remove_ one, I just need some skin.  I’ll let you choose which one.”

              Shaking, terrified, Andre held out a hand through the bars.  Will saw his eyes darting towards the knife; he imagined he was going to try to grab it.  Will placed the bowl on the ground and grasped Andre’s wrist tightly.  Unfortunately for him, he’d been weakened from two weeks of little food, and Will was very, very experienced at holding people down while he cut them.

              He made the slice quickly, scraping only a shallow layer of skin from the top of a finger, though it was still painful enough to make Andre scream.  Will shook with pleasure as he watched the blood drip down into the bowl, the amber light that sang to him rising up from his belly to color his vision.

              “Oh, how badly I want to kill you.” he whispered, his voice seductive, addled with desire.  Andre yanked his arm back, and Will let him have it, the blood in the bowl and the slice of skin stuck to the knife enough for their plans.

              Will rose, his knees cracking as he stood.  He wasn’t as young as he used to be.

              “My apologies that we had to do that a second time.” he said.  “But _somebody_ ate the evidence.”

              He heard Hannibal’s snort from behind him and flashed Andre a grin, as if they were in together on some inside joke, except Andre didn’t understand at all.

              Will brought the evidence over to the counter where Hannibal was working, carefully placing hairs onto the back of a jacket that he’d brought, previously perfectly clean.  He whistled, dipping a spoon into the blood, smearing small drips of it on the right sleeve of the jacket.  He pulled a cutting board off the wall and handed it to Will, who laid it flat on the counter and placed the skin upon it.

              He put on gloves, as Hannibal wore, crinkling his nose at the sensation.  He _hated_ gloves.  He liked to _feel_ the flesh beneath his fingers; but in this case, it was necessary in order to keep his own DNA from contaminating the evidence. 

              Carefully, Will sliced off ten miniscule slivers of flesh, laying them out on a piece of cellophane, then covering them up with another piece, sealing them in.  They would go under the fingernails of their next victim, to make the police think that she had scratched Mr. Halpert as he attacked and brutally murdered her.  Then they would leave the jacket behind, with his hairs and blood on it, and the search for a missing person would become a manhunt for a killer.

              It would also spur Hannibal and Will, of utmost concern for Simone, to petition for custody of her, and the chances that it would be granted were fairly good.  Their gayness was an obstacle, but their material wealth and respect in the community was a great asset. 

              Hannibal assured Will that they’d have Mr. Halpert commit as many murders as was necessary for them to obtain custody.  Will leaned over from his work to plant a sweet kiss on Hannibal’s cheek in adoration.  He really was the most thoughtful husband.

 

* * *

 

              “Beautiful creature.” Hannibal said through his lust-laden voice, his lips pressed half-open, breathing onto Will’s neck as he traced his fingers down the side of his naked body.  The plastic suits they had worn to murder the prostitute ten hotel rooms down from theirs laid tossed haphazardly over an armchair, their clothes in further disarray, discarded across the floor in a trail towards the bed. 

              Hannibal’s palm smoothed over Will’s side, his stomach, his hip, his ass, feeling his warm skin beneath him as he pressed his lips into Will’s neck.

              “Mmmph.” Will moaned, one of his arms pinned under Hannibal’s naked body, his other hand snaked up into his perfectly straight, salt-and-pepper hair.  Hannibal’s fingers wandered down into the cleft of Will’s ass and his fingers tightened, holding Hannibal’s head against his neck as his finger slid into him.

              “Oh, the way you yanked out it’s hair, with such ferocity…” Hannibal whispered into Will’s neck.  “Your precision with the knife, creating what we needed…”

              Will’s eyes fluttered open each time Hannibal pulled his finger out, then closed again when he pushed it back in.  Having done this hundreds of times still didn’t diminish the ecstasy he felt when they made love after a kill. 

              “Work of art.” Hannibal purred into Will’s ear.

              He had no answer.  When he was more with it, he would argue with Hannibal that he was _not_ the perfect thing Hannibal showered praises upon; but when he had him in a state like this, high after a successful hunt, his body electric and alive, Will had no words.  He let Hannibal’s lips devour his mouth, managing nothing more than a pleasant groan when he rolled his body on top of him.  Will spread his legs eagerly, impatient for the only sensation that surpassed the joy of killing, the only thing that made him even more alive than death.

              Hannibal’s eyes locked onto his as he penetrated him, spreading Will open with his cock, joining them together in the one way they were ever apart.  Will’s mouth opened and a long breath exhaled from him, his head tilting back as his hands wrapped tightly around Hannibal’s arms.

              Hannibal pulled back and pushed in again slowly, taking his time, savoring the feast before him that he was permitted to partake of over and over.  Will Graham, who became Will Lecter, his and only his, a creature so beautiful that he wanted it to _live_ , so he could enjoy it for the entirety of his own life.

              “Incredible.” Hannibal managed, and all Will’s voice could do was groan in response.  Slowly Hannibal pushed into him and pulled back out, keeping his pace steady so that Will could push back with him, bringing them as tightly together as possible.  Will’s hands slid up to wrap under Hannibal’s arms, his fingers clasping at his shoulders.

              “Mmmm…ahhhhh…” Will’s voice said.  Hannibal leaned down to plant more kisses across his lips, his back arching and straightening again as he pushed himself into his lover over and over.

              “Fuck, I love you…” Will whispered, and Hannibal purred into his ear.  His tongue emerged, then his teeth, sucking and biting on that ear, so fragile, flesh so easily bitten through; and yet as much as he desired to, he could not.  He could not _bear_ the thought of any damage coming to Will’s gorgeous body; he had enough scars from Hannibal’s hand, already marked, already claimed.

              Hannibal’s breaths grew heavier and he knew that even going slowly, he would topple over the edge of control as only Will could make him do.  He rose up onto all fours, moving his fingers to wrap around Will’s dick, pumping him with the same slow pace he fucked him, matching the rhythm with the skill of a practiced musician.  Will gazed up at him, lost, surrendered, his cheeks glowing with life and heat.  Hannibal fought his own orgasm until he felt Will tense below him, waited until he moaned and convulsed, the result of his pleasure pouring over Hannibal’s fingers.  The sight of it alone tumbled Hannibal over the edge, his hips shoving himself deep into Will, pleasure rolling through his body in waves; Will’s beauty, Will’s savagery, Will, Will, Will.

              “Will.” Hannibal said, collapsing on top of him.  He felt his lover’s arms rise to wrap around his back, holding them tightly together.

              “I’m yours.  Don’t worry.  No one else can have me.”

              Hannibal purred and kissed his ear, then his cheek, then his shoulder, and collapsed once more on the bed.

              “Incredible, beautiful.  Beyond words.” Hannibal tried again.  He would never succeed at finding the proper words.  But he would never cease to try.

             

* * *

             

              The news was all abuzz about the brutal murder in a cheap hotel just outside of Paris, with Mr. Halpert’s face splashed all over the news.  While they kept no televisions in their home and could protect Simone from it there, there was no sheltering her at school, and after she’d come home crying the first day, Hannibal vowed she need not return.

              “But…but how will I get my education?” she asked through sniffles, her arms wrapped tightly around Will’s waist, his eyes burning into Hannibal with fire above her head.

              “You deserve a far better education than the public schools can provide.” Hannibal replied.  “We will hire tutors until such time as this nonsense blows over, and then we will enroll you in private school.”

              Simone’s sobbing quieted a bit then, and she pulled back from Will to look up into his face.

              “Really?”

              He struggled to keep his face as calm as possible, though he allowed some of his concern to show through.  She’d already figured out that he was the one to go to for hugs, and he wanted to keep it that way.

              “If that is what you want, of course.” Will said.

              “It is.” she replied, nodding.  “I hate public school.  I don’t have any friends.  All the kids already made fun of me, and _now_ …”

              Will reached up a thumb and wiped the tear-streaks from her cheek.

              “After this is over, we’ll let you decide.  If you like the tutors, you can continue your education at home.  Or if you’d like to try school again, we’ll enroll you wherever you like.”

              He heard Hannibal clear his throat.

              “…so long as Hannibal approves of their curriculum.”

              Simone smiled and turned to look at Hannibal.

              “You’re so much pickier than Will.” she said, and Will’s heart couldn’t help but glow at her dropping of the title ‘Mr.’ before his name.

              “I have very high standards.” Hannibal said, lifting his chin a bit with pride.  “I want my daughter to have only the best of the best.”

              Will felt Simone’s entire body freeze.  Her gaze fell away from Hannibal, her eyes glazing over to look at the leg of a chair.

              “I…I’m not…I can’t be…”

              “Simone, please speak what is on your mind.” Hannibal encouraged, his tone soft.  For him.

              She pulled away from Will, and as much as it pained him to let her go, he allowed her to back away.  Her eyes were downcast, staring at the hardwood floor.

              “I’m not good enough to be your daughter.” she said.

              “Nonsense, of course you are.” Hannibal replied.  She shook her head violently, her long braid whipping back and forth behind her.

              “No, no I’m not.  I’m a freak, okay?  You really, really don’t want me, you’re too nice, you’re too good!”

              She turned and ran up the stairs, Will’s ears still ringing from the first time he’d ever heard Simone raise her voice.  He instinctually took a step after her, and felt Hannibal’s hand on his arm, holding him back.

              “Let her, for now.” he said.  “There is no way she could possibly know her place here, as of yet.”

              Will trembled with the effort of holding back emotion; sorrow and pain and rage.  He felt Hannibal pull him into his arms, his hand coming to rest on the back of his head, and he let out a sob, soft and muffled into his shoulder.

              “So much pain, caused by this one horrible creature.” Hannibal said.  “But fear not.  He will reap what he has sown.”

 

* * *

 

              Will walked through a silent forest in the darkness.  The trunks of the trees were not black, but a light, ashen grey, and the leaves upon them were white, flittering to the ground in the illusion of snow.  His hooves crunched against them as he walked, the only sound that came to his ears, the crunches echoing off the hillsides, causing small animals to scatter silently away from him.  He held his head high; proud of being the apex predator that he was, the monster from which even the wolves and bears ran in fear.  Yet he walked with curiosity.  Something was amiss in his forest.

              Hannibal was not beside him, but he could sense he was near, also intrigued by the curiosity, drawn to it, approaching it from wherever in the forest he was.  Will heard the sounds of struggling then; followed by the ear-splitting screech of a dying rabbit; the only time in a rabbit’s life that it let loose its vocal chords, to warn others away with its dying breath.

              It appeared in his vision, red blood splattered over the white leaves, deep fangs of a vicious, snarling wolfpup tearing it to shreds.  The wolf snapped its head up to stare at Will, blood dripping from its teeth.  It shook its fur, droplets of blood splattering on the leaves in all directions, some splashing onto Will’s face, warm, pleasant.  Their eyes remained locked for a long time, until he slowly stretched out his tongue to lick the droplets of blood from his face.

              The wolf regarded him curiously, cocking its head to the side, when a the loud thump of a heavy hoof caused both of them to turn their heads towards the other side of the clearing.  Will snorted softly with affection as he saw Hannibal, proud and tall and black, his antlers rising up to brush against the branches of the trees.  He stepped towards the wolf and knelt, holding out his hand.  Shyly, the wolf pulled the rabbit carcass into its jaws and placed it in Hannibal’s outstretched hand.  Hannibal ruffled the wolf’s fur with his empty hand in a sign of acceptance; then brought the carcass to his lips.  His mouth parted, revealing fangs as sharp as razors and as long as knives.  Neither the wolf nor Will moved as he consumed the rabbit, the blood running in rivulets down his chin and onto the white leaves.

              When he was finished, he held his bloody hand out to the wolf, who eagerly stuck out its tongue and lapped up the blood, wagging its tail.  At that, Hannibal grinned, and Will stepped towards them to feel the hand of his lover ruffled through the feathers on his back.

 

              Will shot up in bed, his heart pounding, the pleasantness of the dream still shining through him with brilliant light.  Hannibal was awake the moment Will stirred, peering at him with curious eyes in the darkness.

              “She’s hunting.” Will said.

              They both hurried to dress; slacks, shirts, socks and shoes, Hannibal foregoing his vest and jacket to throw on a sweater instead.  Will glanced at the clock as they hurried from the room.  Two o’clock.

              “She can’t have gone far, here.” Hannibal said, heading for the back door.  “There is no public transportation.  Who will she hunt?”

              The answer that it was one of their servants was without question; there was no one else who would be sleeping on the property.  They rushed out into the back lawn, heading towards the servant’s quarters, where the lights were off and all was quiet.

              Halfway there, Will froze.  The chill of the night air nipped his skin through the thin t-shirt he’d tossed on, chiding himself that he didn’t at least copy Hannibal’s sensibleness in wearing a sweater. 

              “She wouldn’t go after anyone in the quarters; she knows she can’t take an entire herd.  She’d have to find isolated prey.”

              Hannibal nodded in agreement. 

              “Then that leaves the staff awake, working at this hour.  Perhaps Carmine is up already, preparing the flour to bake the fresh bread…”

              Will held up a hand and Hannibal became quiet.  Will’s eyes fluttered closed as he recalled the crime scenes from which he knew Simone, and entered her mind.  The maid, conveniently in peril at the top of the stairs, the homeless man, asleep and unaware in the alley.  The weakest prey, easily overcome, because Simone herself was weak and young.  The weak, the sick, the injured…”

              “Louie.” Will said, turning on his heel and marching towards the workhouse where they kept the lawn equipment.  He was elderly and walked with a limp; too weak to do the yard work himself, he was the head groundskeeper and frequently took naps in the workhouse with the equipment in between repairs. 

              They approached the workhouse at a brisk pace, both absolutely silent.  Catching her in the act was vitally important; making her unable to hide behind her mask, revealed and vulnerable in the truth of what she was.  The lights were not on, but the door was open an inch.  Gently, silently, Will pulled it open and stepped inside. 

              He spent a great deal of his time tinkering with Louie on various machinery and so Will knew his way around the workhouse even in the darkness.  He stepped around a broken lawn mower and then a wood chipper, Hannibal following in his sure footsteps, their ears perked to listen to any sound.

              He heard the very familiar, pleasant squishing of blood being forced from a body with pressure, and turned down the one hall that led to a small break room with the couch Louie slept on.  He halted in the doorway, the moonlight illuminating the top of her head as she hunched over Louie’s corpse on the couch, still plunging the knife into his chest over and over, with all of her strength, her small body trembling from the effort and from the sobs that escaped her lips as she did so.

              Acting on instinct alone, Will rushed into the room and wrapped his arms tightly around Simone.  She screamed and struggled violently, and he held her tight, whispering in her ear.

              “Shhh, it’s Will.  It’s Will, Simone.  It’s Will.  You’re safe.  You’re safe.”

              It took her brain a good three seconds to process what she was hearing, and her struggles lessened and then vanished.  She slumped in his arms and then turned to sob into his chest, the blood smearing onto his t-shirt and bare arms, her fingers still clutched tightly around the hilt of the knife.

              Hannibal stepped behind her and gently pried the knife from her fingers, setting it down on top of the corpse, and waited for her to calm down while Will stroked his fingers along the back of her head.

              “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…I told you I was a freak…you can send me away, now.” she whispered softly.

              “We shall do no such thing.” Hannibal replied.  Simone pushed back from Will’s chest and looked at him then, not seeing the expression of horror she’d clearly expected, but instead seeing nothing but worry and concern.

              “But I…I…”

              “While I’d hoped for a different end to Louie’s life, perhaps a long retirement, there’s nothing to be done about that now.” Hannibal said.  Will turned and gave him a look that said _let me do the talking_ , and he closed his mouth with a tight click.

              “Simone.” Will said, pulling back a little further to peer into her face in the moonlight, his fingers still combing through the loose strands of her hair that had fallen out from her braid.  “We already knew this about you before we ever met you.”

              It took her a long moment to process what she’d heard.  But when she did, her eyes narrowed in disbelief and suspicion.

              “Knew _what_?” she asked, her voice still as quiet as always, even though her tone had a mistrusting bite to it.

              Will reached down and took both of her hands in his, holding them gently, rubbing his thumbs over the backs, smearing the blood.  She looked down at her hands then, seeing how Will held her, how unappalled he was by the wet, sticky redness that covered them both.

              “That you were a killer, my dear.” Hannibal said.  “We knew it from the moment we found the homeless man in the ally that you’d stabbed through the eyes.  A much more calculated, beautiful kill, compared with this emotional one.”

              Will glared at Hannibal and he merely quirked an eyebrow at him.

              “Wait…you…you _knew_ that was me?”

              Will gave her a kind smile and nodded gently.  Her eyes grew wide with horror.

              “Were you just waiting for me to mess up?  To get proof?  Are you going to arrest me now?”

              Hannibal snorted, and Will gave her the most encouraging, comforting smile he knew how to give.

              “Hardly.” he said.  “We’re going to help you clean up this mess, so that _no one_ calls the police, and then we’re going to have a long, important talk.”

              Simone nodded, her eyes lowering to the ground in shame.

              “Where you say how worried about me you are, and I should promise not to do such a thing again.”    

              “Nonsense.” Hannibal replied.  “We’ll lay down some ground rules, for certain; no more sneaking out in the middle of the night without Will and I knowing.  And no more using Will’s fishing knife for murder.”

              “My _what_?” Will said, yanking one hand away from Simone to pull the knife off of Louie’s chest to look at it more closely in the darkness.  “Oh, Simone!  This is for gutting _fish_!”

              She looked even more ashamed, backing away from him, though she kept her hand clutched tightly in his.  Will set the knife on the floor and shifted, reaching into his pocket, suddenly glad that he’d chosen to thrown on the pair of pants he’d been wearing that day.  He pulled out his trusted Marfione  and flicked it open.   Simone’s eyes grew wide and she instinctively stepped closer to look.

              “ _This_ is my knife for gutting humans.”

              Her entire body froze, her hand mid-way towards the knife to take it.  Her eyes darted to Will and then widened in terror.

              “What?” she whispered. 

              Hannibal walked around from behind her to stand behind Will instead, placing his hands firmly upon Will’s shoulders, the two of them looking at her now with their masks partially removed—just enough so that she could see they were genuine, but not enough to frighten her.

              “We have always known what you are, Simone.” Hannibal said.  “And to us, you are beautiful.”

              Her eyes somehow grew even wider, her entire face radiating disbelief.  She looked up at Hannibal for only a second, before her eyes fell back to Will, the friendlier face, the kinder face.

              “You…you…”

              She struggled to find the words to describe any of what she was thinking.  Will squeezed her hand with encouragement.

              “Go ahead.  Say what you’re thinking.”

              “You two are _murderers_?”

              A spark of pride flickered across Hannibal’s face, along with the hint of a smile.  Will’s smile lasted much longer and was much warmer, though no less sincere.

              “Yes.” was all he said. 

              She yanked her hand away in fear.

              “Are you…are you going to kill me?”

              The hurt that showed on Will’s face was enough to make her regret her question almost immediately.

              “Never.” he said without hesitation.  “Never; we will protect you.”

              Will felt Hannibal’s palm come up to stroke his own cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into it for comfort.  Of all the situations he’d imagined a life with Hannibal would have put him in, this was not one of them.

              “And also teach you, and guide you.” Hannibal replied.  “To help you grow, and mature, until you become the beautiful creature you were meant to be.”

              Had they been speaking such ideas to an adult, such as when Hannibal had first started to woo Will with such language, her mind, having been conditioned by society for years, would have rebelled.  As it was, she was old enough to appear confused and mistrusting, but the outright rebellion wasn’t there.  She was still moldable, formable and pliant—and already, Will could see her _believing_ them, and even more amazingly, accepting them.

              “You’re really not upset that I killed the gardener.”

              Will couldn’t help it; a laugh escaped his lips, his joy too bright to hide now.

              “Hardly.” he said, rising to his feet to look down at her work.  “Actually, I’m pretty proud.  You’ve finally worked up the courage to stab through the gut.”

              Simone came over and the three of them looked down at Louie then, one arm raised over his head in defense.

              “Quick, multiple, deep stabs.  You incapacitated him quickly, and without hesitation.  Messy, but effective.  More to Will’s style.” Hannibal said.  “Though had he been stronger, you would have been in danger of him fighting back.  This is what we will discuss, in our new lessons, starting in the morning.”

              “Also proper tools.” Will said, frowning at his fishing knife, trying to rub some of the blood off on his shirt.

              “I feel like I’m dreaming.” Simone said.  “None of this feels real.  What you’re saying, it can’t be real.”

              “Oh, it’ll feel real soon enough.” Hannibal said.  “Now let’s get to work.”

             

              It was an incredible amount of work, cleaning up evidence.  There was a reason they brought their kills to their safehouses and killed them there; blood made for hours and hours of clean-up work.  First Hannibal had come with the truck, and he and Will carried Louie’s body through the darkness in the workhouse, explaining to Simone that they couldn’t turn on the lights for fear of someone seeing. Then Hannibal drove off to one of the safe houses while Will and Simone stayed behind to take care of the mess in the break room.

              “How are we ever going to clean all this?” she asked.

              “We’re not.  It would take days, to clean all of this, to wash the blood off the walls and scrub it out of the couch and carpet, and even then, parts of the carpet would be cleaner than other parts and there would still be evidence that something had happened.”

              She turned to him with wide, fearful eyes.

              “Then what are we going to do?”

              Will smiled at her and winked.

              “Make it look like something else.”

              She followed him as he walked across the grounds to the henhouse.  The Estate Lecter kept two dairy cows and a flock of chickens so that Hannibal could have the freshest eggs and milk for his cooking as possible.  Will left Simone by the gate and snuck into the henhouse, careful not to stir them as they roosted for the night.  When he grabbed the first one and shoved it into a sack a ruckus broke out, but he was quick and this was not his first time doing this, so he was able to get a second before all hell broke loose and a flock of chickens was screaming in his ears.

              He ran through the gate and grabbed Simone’s hand, the two of them giggling at the sounds of screeching chickens and the shouting of one of the livestock hands as they came out to see what the ruckus was about.

              They hurried back to the breakroom of the workhouse, where Will bludgeoned both chickens still in the sack until they stopped moving.  He pulled out his knife and showed Simone how to cut the chicken to make it look like dog or wolf bites, the blood spraying and feathers flying as he plucked some and tossed them about.  He then handed the knife to Simone and let her do the other one, her voice light and giggling as the blood sprayed around the room, accompanied by chicken feathers. 

              They left what looked like partially-eaten chicken carcasses in the room, careful to cover any clear footprints with more puddles of chicken blood, until the carnage looked entirely caused by something having attacked chickens, and not murder.

              By then, the sun was coming up, and Simone was yawning every thirty seconds, or so. 

              “Are we finally finished, Will?” she asked, sleepy, exhausted.

              “Yes, I believe we are.”

              “What about Hannibal?”

              “He’ll be fine.  Now we have to get back to the house and cleaned up, and back into bed before the day staff arrives and notices us missing.”

              She nodded, rubbing her eyes as they trudged back up the hill to the house, careful to avoid the kitchen windows where Carmine would be up, already starting to bake the fresh bread and muffins for the day.

              Will didn’t have the energy to clean blood out of two showers, and the staff would never dare come into he and Hannibal’s private washroom unless asked, so he told Simone to shower in the master bath.  He gave her clear instructions about how to scrub down, making sure to wash everything twice, then a third time, including under her fingernails, behind and in her ears, in every crack and crevice of her body.

              She nodded sleepily, but followed his direction, coming out of the bathroom after a full half-hour, wearing one of Will’s bathrobes as he’d told her to dispose of her blood clothes in the trash.  By then the day staff was awake, bustling downstairs, and Will instructed Simone to keep their voices down.  No one would enter their rooms while they were sleeping.

              “You cannot come out until your hair is dry.” he said.  “But I imagine you’ll sleep much later than that.  The reason you are so tired is because of the exhausting day you had at school, do you understand?”

              “Yes, Will.” she said, as obedient as ever, taking his instruction without question, still so eager to learn, and to please.

              “Murdering is hard work.” she said.

              “Yes, it is.” Will replied.  “And it is also dangerous.  Which is why you will ask Hannibal and I before you do this again, and we will guide you.”

              She nodded, her eyes now barely open.

              “Yes, Will.  I promise.”

              He smiled down at her and stroked her cheek again.

              “I know you will.”

              She looked up at him with tired but shining eyes.

              “Thank you.  Very much.” she said. 

              Will listened with his ear to the door until he heard no footsteps in the upstairs hall, then peeked through the crack before he motioned for Simone to hurry.  Holding up the too-long robe, she rushed on silent feet a few doors down the hall and slipped into her own bedroom, closing it with the softest of clicks, and Will finally allowed the tension to leave his body.

              He barely kept himself awake as he showered the blood from his skin, and collapsed into the bed just in time to hear the door creak open as Hannibal slipped in.

              He snuggled into the bed behind him, having cleaned himself at the safehouse, and wrapped his arm tightly around Will’s stomach, pulling him close.

              “She was brilliant.” Will said.  “Perfect.”

              Hannibal leaned over and placed kisses along Will’s cheek.

              “You have chosen well, my love.” he whispered, and that was all the conversation they had energy for, the entire family sleeping until well past noon to the amusement of the staff, who had never known Hannibal to rise later than 8 o’clock.


	8. Conversation

Hannibal gave all the staff the day off, giving strict instructions that no one was to enter the house.  Simone needed to recover from the harrowing day she’d faced at school the day before, and as a psychologist he prescribed quietness and rest.  Everyone understood, feeling terrible for the little girl, telling Hannibal that they hoped she felt better soon.

              He closed the door behind the last maid and then the three of them were alone.

              Simone was sitting on the day-couch, feet touched together, hands folded tightly in her lap.  Will didn’t look nearly as nervous, but was still a bit uncomfortable as he sat in the armchair beside the grand piano.  They both looked up at Hannibal wordlessly when he walked into the sitting room, clearly the head of the household.

              “We have much to discuss.” he said.  “But first, breakfast.”

              Simone looked over to Will who simply shrugged, then rose to his feet to follow Hannibal into the kitchen.  As per usual, he didn’t hear a single sound she made as she walked down the hall behind him, but he trusted that she was there. 

              Hannibal was already warming up a pan on the stove and throwing open cabinets, humming as he procured the ingredients he was after.

              “Since it is Simone’s first day as a Lecter,” he said, “She shall choose what we have for breakfast.”

              Stunned, she froze in place, not moving from where she stood, halfway between the door and the island-counter that was surrounded by stools.

              “I…I, um…” her voice faded, and she looked to Will, who gave her an encouraging smile.

              “There is no going back from what we did last night.” Will said.  “You are a Lecter, and will be, until you die.”

              He saw that she understood both the promise and the threat in what he said, down to her core.

              “How…how long, um, until that is?”

              “Hopefully, until you are an old woman.” Hannibal said, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up to his elbows.  “For as long as you protect this family, this family will protect you.”

              He raised his eyes and Will saw them pierce into her; his mask momentarily removed, the face of the monster glaring directly at Simone, who looked directly back.  She straightened her back even further, if that was possible, and lifted her chin.

              “I will protect this family with my life.” she said, and Will had to choke back his own emotion.  The idea of harm coming to her was repulsive to him and he would not allow it, with all of his being.  But she had to be willing to pay the same price, if she was to belong with them.  There was no way around it. 

              “As we will protect you with ours,” Hannibal said, his human mask sliding back into place with practiced ease, “Now, eggs or pancakes?”

 

              The conversation while Hannibal made breakfast turned to him teaching Simone how to separate egg yolks from whites, how to fluff the whites to create home-made whipped cream (because even a breakfast of pancakes was never simple when Hannibal made it), and Will was content to watch them; to listen to the impossible patience in Hannibal’s voice, the eagerness in Simone’s. 

              “Why doesn’t Will ever cook?” she asked, wiping flour from her face.  Her dark colored blouse and skirt were covered in white dust.  Hannibal took a step back and cracked the smallest of smiles.

              “Because he makes even more a mess of himself than you do.” he replied.  Simone looked down at herself and frowned.  “Fear not.” Hannibal said.  “I do believe this is the reason they invented aprons.  We shall get you one.”

              Simone looked up at him and smiled, then, before she turned her attention back to the mixing bowl where she’d been told to remove every single lump from the pancake batter, by hand.

             

              If there was anything Will had learned over the years, it was that the longer you waited to eat something, the more delicious it was.  Perhaps it was a simple matter of being hungrier; yet as they sat around the kitchen island eating possibly the most informal breakfast he’d ever had with Hannibal, not counting when they’d been on the run, Will found these particular pancakes to be the most delicious he’d ever had.

              “Simone, your cooking ability terrifies me.” he said.  She actually giggled; a soft, reserved sound that didn’t last long, but it warmed his heart to its core.

              “I can’t imagine you killing anyone, Will.” she said then, her voice as unintrusive as ever, but the sentence itself was still very powerful.  He turned to her with a bright, genuine smile, gesturing with his butter knife—a trespass that only he was permitted at Hannibal’s table.  Or informal island counter.

              “Neither can anyone.  Especially not my prey.  That’s how I get them.” he said, poking the bit of pancake that had been on the end of his knife into his mouth.  Simone giggled.

              “I can’t see it.”

              Hannibal’s hand came down on Simone’s shoulder in a gentle squeeze.

              “Just as no one else suspects you.” he said.  “Gentle and sweet, perfectly well-behaved and excellently mannered.” Hannibal stated.  “Until there is a knife in your hands.”

              Simone’s smile faded, to be replaced by another expression, one that Will knew well.

              “We all wear different masks, to hide what we really are.” Will said.  “Hannibal wears manners.  I wear friendliness.  You appear innocent.”

              Simone looked at the knife in her hand then, and with a vicious sureness, sliced her pancake in one quick, powerful stroke.

              “Exactly.” Hannibal said, and for the first time, Will saw Simone’s shoulders relax, just a hair.  She was starting to realize just how _much_ she belonged with them.

 

              After breakfast was over, and the dishes were cleaned, and the kitchen wiped down, they all sat in the sitting room, too early in the day for the sunshine to have erased the shadow of the house from the back lawn.  Will sat in his usual armchair near the fireplace, and Hannibal sat on one side of the day-couch.  Instead of sitting on the other end of the couch as she had become accustomed to, however, Simone opted to sit in another armchair, where she faced both of them more easily.  As always, she sat on the very edge of the seat, far enough up so that her feet were flat on the floor, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

              “How shall we begin?” Hannibal asked, and Simone tilted her head slightly in contemplation, surprised that he didn’t already know.

              “I think we should start by asking Simone what made her decide to kill last night.” Will said.  “Why last night, Simone?”

              She lowered her eyes to her hands and bit her lower lip, the perfect image of a child about to be punished, and hard.

              “Darling, we are not going to scold you.” Hannibal said.  “This needs to be a very, very honest conversation.  We need to understand your reasons, in your own words.”

              Will saw the battle on her face.  Despite their experiences together last night, and the casual conversation over breakfast, the societal rules that this was _not_ to be spoken about still held fast over Simone.  He knew himself how difficult those rules were to break through.

              “Why don’t I go first.” Will said.  “Then Hannibal, then you.”  She lifted her eyes and looked at him, quizzically.  He inhaled slowly, trying to find the correct words to make this simple to understand, and yet still be perfectly honest.

              “The reason _I_ need to kill, or one of them, is because I’m not whole or alive without it.  I don’t feel…complete, unless I’m taking the life of others.  The confidence I wear?  It came from others, given to me when I took their life.  Before I started murdering, I was a nervous wreck.  A shell.  A shadow of a human being.”

              Simone listened carefully, and Will could see that she didn’t understand.  But that was okay.  One example wasn’t usually enough for someone to understand an entirely new concept.  Perhaps two would be.  He turned to Hannibal, who took Will’s cue earnestly.

              “My reason is completely different from Will’s.” he said.  “I was much like you, in that I knew I was different from a very young age.  I had…occasion to taste human flesh.” he began, and Will heard the slightest hitch in Hannibal’s breath.  This type of confession wasn’t any easier for him than it was for Will. 

              He turned his attention to Simone, then, letting his eyes fall halfway closed, reaching out with his empathy to gauge her state.  Curiosity was the dominant emotion.  Not fear, and certainly not horror.  He gave the slightest nod to Hannibal, who understood his gesture to continue.

              “It was in that moment that I knew my purpose.  The reason for my existence; the truth of what I was.  I was not like them; not one of them.  I am above them.  I am their predator, and they my prey; they were here for me to hunt, kill, and devour.  I kill them in order to eat them.  But it is the eating I desire; the kill is only secondary, for me.  I enjoy it, but not in the same way Will does.”

              Hannibal leaned forward just a hair, folding his hands together in front of his crossed legs.  He stilled, having finished his piece, and Will turned his face back to Simone. 

              “Now, your turn.” he said.  “And it’s alright if you don’t have all the words, or know all the reasons.  Just do your best.”

              Simone nodded, her eyes wide, staring at Will with disbelief.  She flashed a look towards Hannibal, but in him the killer was easy for her to see, and she turned away quickly to face Will again.

              “I, um.”  she bit her lower lip, and squeezed her hands together a bit more tightly.  Her voice was so soft Will had to lean in to hear it. “I um, they all, they think I’m weak and they can tell me what to do.  But they’re wrong.  I destroy them; they tell me what to do but then I end them.  I’m more important than they are.  I silence them.” she tried.

              “Excellent.” Hannibal said, a glimmer in his eyes.  “You won’t allow them to put you beneath them.”

              “No.” she said, her voice dark and sure this time.  A chill ran through Will and sprang onto his face in a malicious smile.

              “You won’t be patronized.” he said, and he saw she didn’t understand the word.  “It means you won’t be made small.”

              At that, she rose, her spine straight and tall, lifting her chin.

              “No.” she said, her voice firm, strong.

              “Tell me,” Hannibal asked, the glimmer in his eyes almost growing into a smile on his own face.  “What do you feel, when you kill them?”

              Will couldn’t stop his face from showing how endeared he was with Hannibal.  It was his most favorite question, and he didn’t get to ask it nearly often enough.

              Simone paused, thinking.  Her eyes darted back and forth over the hardwood floor, her brow furrowing as she tried to come up with the answer.

              “Strong.  Satisfied.” she said.  “It feels good, but it’s more than that.  Like I’ve scratched a horrible itch.  Like…revenge, but more than that.  I don’t know.  It’s satisfying.”

              “Not…afraid?” Hannibal prompted, and Simone cracked a smile as if he’d told a joke.

              “I’m only afraid of people who are _alive_ , Hannibal.”

              Hannibal gave a very short laugh, and Simone had no trouble looking into his eyes, then.  They regarded each other for a long while, the smiles spreading on both their faces, and Will marveled at the connection they had.  She really was a mix between the both of them—she saw those she killed as beneath her, the way Hannibal did; but she got emotional gratification from killing, the way Will did.  He couldn’t _believe_ how perfect she was.

              “You are something else, Simone.” he said.  She turned to smile brightly at him, and he returned it, letting her happiness warm the room. 

              “Now for a more important question.” he said.  “Why _last_ night?  You’ve lived here for weeks.  Why not until last night?”

              The smile disappeared from her face like smoke.

              “Because my father killed that woman.  He’s practicing how to kill, to come after me.  I have to be ready.”

              Guilt flashed across Will’s features.  He glanced at Hannibal who cocked his head to the side, observing Will’s guilt, but of course not capable of feeling it himself.  Will sat up straight, then, placing his hands over his knees.

              “This is our fault.” he said.

              “Nonsense.” Hannibal said.  “First, nothing of negative consequence has happened; in fact, the opposite is true.  Second, all of our actions have been correct in this matter.”

              Simone squinted her eyes at them, scrutinizing.

              “What?”

              “Your father didn’t kill anyone, Simone.” Will started, and Hannibal pinched his lips, clearly having wanted to approach this conversation in another way.  “That was us.”

              Her eyes flew wide open and her face darted between the two of them.

              “The lady in the hotel?”

              “Yes.” Hannibal confirmed, but said nothing more.

              “Why?” 

              It was a natural question.

              “We have your father in our possession.” Hannibal said then.  “We kidnapped him so that you could come live with us, and now we are framing him for murder, in order to win custody of you.”

              Will held his breath as his eyes studied Simone’s every feature, clamping his jaw shut as he waited for her reaction.

              “…really?”

              It was the voice of a child who’d just been told she was getting a unicorn for her birthday.  Utter disbelief, and yet powerful hope that it might somehow be true.

              “Yes.  It was Will’s idea.”  
              Will turned to Hannibal to protest, but before he could get a word out of his mouth, Simone was running across the sitting room to throw her arms around Will’s neck.  Instinctually he hugged her back, wrapping his arms tightly around her, pulling her in close until she was on his lap, squeezing him with every ounce of her strength.

              “Oh Will, thank you, thank you!  I _knew_ it was you, I knew it the whole time!  He would _never_ leave me alone on his own, you are like _angels_!”

              He peered over her shoulder to glance at Hannibal, who gave him nothing more than a tiny mirthful expression.  Will closed his eyes and brought a hand up to the back of Simone’s head, holding her in close.

              “I couldn’t stand that he was hurting you.” he said softly, and only felt her hold him more tightly.  She stayed like that for a long time, unwilling to let him go, and he was just as unable to part with her.  Hannibal merely watched, that glimmer in his eye that only came when he saw Will’s happiness, and Will knew then that everything was right.  Everything was as it should be.     

 

              After that, all awkwardness was gone from between the three of them.  Simone became a never-ending geyser of questions, more excited than she’d ever been in their presence, happily bounding ahead of them down the wooded path Hannibal had suggested they take a walk upon.

              “So who was _your_ first kill, Will?” she asked, dashing to pluck a leaf from a shrub and hold it to her nose, smiling as she concentrated on the scent.  Will hesitated to answer; it still wasn’t all that easy for him to talk about, because of the association of the memory with Abigail.  But before he’d even gotten the first word from his mouth, she sniffed the leaf again and turned to Hannibal.

              “Maple?” she asked him, and he could not hide the pride on his face, not even from her.

              “Yes, what kind?”

              “…not sugar maple, different from syrup.”

              “Very good.  It is sycamore maple.  Not as often used for syrup, but still a good source of sugar and it can also be used to make beer.”

              “Oh, can we?” she asked.  Will laughed at her excitement.

              “I would be delighted to teach you to make beer.” Hannibal said.  Will elbowed him in the ribs as they walked side-by-side.

              “I would teach her the traditional way first.” he defended, and she looked at them quizzically.

              “If Hannibal makes it, you can be sure someone is in it.” Will replied, and it took Simone a moment of frowning before understanding dawned on her face.

              “In…everything?”

              “Yes, almost.” Hannibal said, Will’s hand sliding down his arm to entwine their fingers together.  Simone’s eyes followed the motion, staring for a long time at their clasped hands, before rising her eyes to meet Will’s as she walked backwards.

              “So…everything we eat…”

              Will nodded.

              “Anything that isn’t vegetables was probably someone.” he said.  He watched her carefully.  This was, he knew, more than she’d bargained for…as it was for anyone who found out.  Nobody, as of yet, had reacted _positively_ at first to the news of what it was Hannibal fed them.

              “It’s okay with you?” she asked, and Will felt a twinge of…something, deep in his gut.  Guilt wasn’t it; regret wasn’t quite right, either; more like he felt he _should_ feel guilty, teaching such a malleable and pliant human being that what they did was ‘okay’.  He frowned, thinking.

              “I have chosen to enjoy Hannibal, and all that he is.” he replied.  “Though I don’t think I would eat people if he wasn’t here to share them with me; but no, it doesn’t bother me.  So yes, it is okay with me.”

              He saw her thinking.  Watched her processing that information as she turned to walk forwards down the path again, her feet lightly kicking the short grass as the speckled sunlight danced on the ground through the trees. 

              “Hannibal, you said honesty is allowed, right?”

              “Yes, though rudeness is not.  Think carefully about how you want to phrase what you wish to say.”

              She nodded, walking carefully down the path then, stepping around even the tiniest of stones.

              “I think eating people is…strange.” she said, finally.

              Hannibal tilted his head to the side, just slightly, in almost exactly the same fashion that Simone did.  It made Will wonder for a moment if fate wasn’t a thing after all; if the three of them were always destined to be together, and Abigail had only been a precursor, practice…

              “It most certainly is a strange habit.” he finally replied, and Will jerked his head to the side to stare at his lover in shock.  He had _never_ heard such an admission from Hannibal before.  “But do you consider strange to be negative?”

              “No.” she said, reaching down to pluck a dandelion, hardly pausing in her step as she did so.  “But I don’t know if I like it.”

              “That’s alright.” he said.  “If it makes you feel better, I’ll never tell you the source of the meat on the table.  You won’t know pork from Louie, at least not until your palette refines enough to be able to tell the difference.”  
              “We’re going to eat Louie?” she said, her arms freezing at her sides.  Will gave Hannibal a Look, and he only lifted an eyebrow in response.  From his point of view, there was nothing to discuss; he would serve what he would serve, and the matter was not up for debate.

              “It’s the best way to get rid of evidence.” Will tried.

              “And I would never waste such perfect meat.” Hannibal added.  “Louie was in excellent health for his age.  Also, I respected him.  He was an superb gardener.  To waste him would be a crime.”

              Simone stopped walking then.  Will and Hannibal stopped behind her, both watching her as she turned the dandelion slowly between her fingers.  She turned around and looked at Hannibal for a long time, observing, _thinking_.  It was one more trait that Will liked so much about her; she _didn’t_ take what they said at face-value; she thought about everything, filtering it through her own mind, making her own decisions, drawing her own conclusions.

              “You liked Louie.” she said, finally.

              “Yes.  He was respectful and skilled at his job.  A bit rough around the edges, but Will got along well with him.  I enjoyed having him in my employ.”

              “So you want to eat him?”

              To Will’s complete surprise, Hannibal let go of his hand and crouched down, so that he was shorter than Simone, so that he looked _up_ at her.  He had never known Hannibal to do that before to _anyone_ , not even himself.  To Hannibal, Will was his equal; but beyond that, Hannibal saw himself as _above_ all others.

              “The reasons I eat people are many, Simone.  I enjoy the flavor of my enemies as well as my friends.  But yes, for Louie, it is a matter of respect.  I would make of him an exquisite and elegant dish, worthy of the years of service he provided this household, and I would serve him to all the staff, so they can partake in the last bit of beauty he is able to give to this world.”

              A soft smile spread over Simone’s lips, then.

              “That’s really sweet.”

              Okay, she was more like Hannibal than Will had realized.

              “There’s a smart girl.” he said, reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair from her eyes.  “I knew you would understand.”

              Her soft smile spread into a bright, wide one.

              “I want to help you cook him.”

              Will thought Hannibal would choke from joy.

              “Of course.  Though cooking an entire carcass at once is a _lot_ of work, and I usually have help in the kitchen when preparing such a large meal.  So you will have to be _very_ careful, about both what you say, and what you do.  You must follow my every instruction.”

              “I will, Hannibal, I promise.  Very carefully.”

              An actual smile cracked its way onto Hannibal’s face, and when he rose, Simone walked beside him, his hand on her shoulder as they traveled down the path.

              “Will, you’ve been very silent.” Hannibal said shortly after.

              “I’m surrounded by fine chefs, and here I am, a simple fisherman.” he said.  Simone giggled.

              “I like fishing with you too, Will.”

              “No, you like _gutting_ the fish.”

              “It’s fun!”

              He laughed, and then she laughed, the weight of the world that she wore on her shoulders lifting, just a little bit. 

              “It’s settled, then.  I’ll begin making the preparations.  Louie will be ready for Thursday.”


	9. Family Matters

That night at dinner, Simone hesitated at first to eat.  Hannibal presented the meal with the same flourish as always, but this time, she eyed the plate suspiciously, lifting up the slab of pork with her fork, peering underneath it, as if it would tell her its secrets.

              Will and Hannibal both watched her, neither speaking, waiting for her to say what was on her mind.

              “Who was it?” she asked.  The house was still silent; Hannibal had given the staff the entire day off, and no one was around but them.

              “A grocer from Lyon.” Hannibal said, matter-of-factly.  “He stacked the bread too high, and when it fell to the ground he yelled at the poor old woman who happened to be standing near it at the time.  Very unpleasant person.”

              Simone let the meat fall back to her plate, slopping into the sauce, which splashed onto her blouse, Will’s shirt, and the tablecloth.

              She stared at it.

              “Simone, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.” Will said.  Hannibal gave him a sharp look, and he glared back just as fiercely.

              She picked up her knife and fork, then, holding them exactly as Hannibal had taught her to, and shrugged.

              “It’s not like he’ll be any less dead if I don’t.”

              With that, she cut into her pork with perfect manners and stuck a bite into her mouth, chewing with her eyes shifting back and forth as she tasted it.

              Hannibal smiled, lifted his wine, and took a sip.  Will started to eat as well, slowly, though, keeping his empathy on alert, waiting for any sign of discomfort from her.

              “You know.” she said after a few minutes of awkward silence, “If this is all I’ve had, then I’ve never tasted actual pork.  I wouldn’t know the difference.”

              “You have had both.” Hannibal said.  “I cook it all.”

              She nodded then, and took another bite.

              “Then I guess I’ll learn the difference eventually.  Will, it’s rude to stare.” she said, and he jerked his head back to his plate and stared down at it, suddenly feeling like _he_ was somehow the child at the table.

              He saw a hint of amusement prick the corner of Hannibal’s lips.

              “He can’t help it.  He is very protective of you.” Hannibal said.  Will sighed heavily.

              “What is it, my darling?” Hannibal asked, putting down his utensils to take another sip of his wine.

              “I was so late to the party, I feel out of place.” he said.  Simone gave him a quizzical look, and Hannibal placed down his glass deliberately, before cutting back into his meal.

              “Will fought against his nature for years.” Hannibal said.  “It caused us both great pain.  I sense he is a bit jealous of how easily you have come to yours.”

              Will tried to glare at Hannibal, but couldn’t, because what he spoke was the truth.

              “Not _jealous_.” Will said.  “Just…wistful.  About what could have been.”

              He felt Hannibal’s hand cover the back of his with a firm, warm touch, and could not hide the pain from his eyes.

              “What happened?” Simone asked quietly, concern on her face as she saw that Will was upset.  Will lifted his eyes to look into Hannibal’s face, and he saw the pain there.

              “We can’t keep this from her.” Hannibal said.  “No secrets, Will, or this family doesn’t work.”

              He nodded slowly and bit his lower lip.  Simone looked back and forth between the both of them, worried, but still eating her meal, whereas Will had stopped.

              “You mean you have _another_ secret, bigger than being murderers who eat people?” she asked, quirking up an eyebrow, as if that was preposterous.

              “Not bigger.” Hannibal said.  “Just much more painful.  Finish your dinner, and then we will discuss it.”

 

              The rest of dinner had been awkwardly silent, with Simone and Hannibal making a few comments to each other, and Will remaining silent.  They cleaned up themselves, because there were no servants to do so, and Simone proved to be a knowledgeable dishwasher, as her father had never bothered to do it in her old home.

              Then they settled in the sitting room, and there was enough chill in the air that Hannibal lit a fire.  Will sat, unspeaking, hands folded in front of him as his eyes remained liquid and full of pain.

              He felt two small hands cover his, and he looked up into Simone’s face.

              “Will, it’ll be okay.” she said softly.  He pulled her fiercely into his arms, then, and she hugged him back just as tightly, trying to make it all better for him.  He released her, and Hannibal gestured for her to sit on the couch, and she did so.  He sat on the other end of it, and Will did not look very capable of speaking, so Hannibal began.

              “We once had another daughter.” he said plainly, and Simone’s eyes grew wide.  They darted between the two of them in quick succession, from Hannibal’s emotionless face to Will’s, which looked ready to crack into tears at any moment.

              “A long time ago?” she asked, her voice wavering, afraid, for the first time that day.

              “Yes, very.  Before you were born.” Hannibal said.  “Her name was Abigail.”

              At that, Will’s tears fell.  Simone’s face crumbled in response, her concern for him plain on her face.

              “She died, didn’t she?” she whispered softly, and Will only nodded, his hands now wringing themselves tightly, until his knuckles were white.

              “It was the worst day of either of our lives.” Hannibal said, and in the statement, Will could feel the truth.  Though they had had many conversations about this over the years, and he had utterly and _completely_ forgiven Hannibal, it didn’t lessen the pain.  He could still feel her blood, pouring into his hands, could still feel her heartbeat, growing weaker, the warmth of her body pressed against his, the slick of her sliced throat under his fingers. 

              “What happened to her?” Simone asked, her voice only a whisper, and all Will could do was bury his face in his hands.

              “I killed her.” Hannibal said.  Simone completely froze.  “It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.” he added, though that didn’t  add any comfort for her.

              “Wh…why?”

              Hannibal’s perpetually thin lips pressed into an even thinner line.

              “Will broke my heart, and I lost my mind.”

              Will slid his hands down his face to reveal his eyes then, red and stung with tears.

              “I also,” Hannibal continued, uncaring of the terrified expression on Simone’s face, “Nearly killed Will, that day.”

              Her head snapped over to Will, her eyes wide in terror.  He moved his eyes to look at her and nodded, confirming the truth.

              “But you’re not afraid, now?” she asked, her voice the barest of whispers.  “Of Hannibal?”

              He shook his head and sat up, removing his hands from his face.

              “Never.” he said. 

              She got up, then, and walked over to him, standing in front of Will, placing both of her small hands on the side of his face, in a perfect imitation of the way Hannibal did the gesture.  She lifted his face to look into hers, and their eyes met, blue on brown, both looking deeply into each other.

              “If you trust Hannibal now, then I will, too.” she said.  At that Will swept her back into his arms, holding her tightly, sobbing, stroking his hand over the back of her head.  She curled into him, pressing her forehead against his cheek.

              “It’s okay, Will.  I’m not dead.  I’m right here.”

              Still he held her, unable to let go, and she held him back, feeling comfort in the fact that someone cared _this much_ about her.

              “It was my fault.  It was _my_ fault.” Will said, sobbing as Simone had never seen a grown man do. 

              “It was my hand that held the knife to her throat.” Hannibal said, and Simone looked up, peering around Will’s face, to see the regret showing, now, on Hannibal. 

              “But I’m the one who betrayed you.” Will said quietly.  “I’m the one who lied…”

              “But…but you fixed it!” Simone said, trying to understand a situation that was beyond her years of experience.  “You married him.  He knows you love him now.”

              Simone’s innocent and simple view of the situation sparked a brightness in Will.  She wasn’t wrong.  It really wasn’t all that complex. 

              “He does.” Will whispered, gently uncurling, releasing Simone from his desperate grasp.  Simone rose then, and Will took her hands in his.  “But that loss…it makes me doubly terrified of losing you.  It makes me determined to protect you, at any cost.  Nothing will ever hurt you; no one will ever harm you again.” he said, and even as his hand moved gently to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, she heard the deep, visceral beast beneath, growling the threat to any who would dare try to harm her.

              “I believe you, Will.” she said.  “I know I’m safe with you.  With both of you.” she said, looking at Hannibal.  “I know you’ll protect me, from my dad and whoever else.”

              Hannibal’s smile was tight, and she could see the pain behind his eyes as well, though he kept it buried much more deeply than Will did.  Will leaned up to press a kiss to her forehead, and Simone gave her a smile.

              “You wanna tuck me in?” she asked.  “Marie’s not here to do it.”

              “I’d love to.” Will said, rising to his feet.  Simone took his hand and started to lead him out of the room, but before they’d gone two steps, Hannibal’s hand was on his shoulder.  He turned and found Hannibal’s lips pressed to his, long and gentle, his fingers stroking softly down Will’s cheek.

              “This is not the same situation.” Hannibal said, and Will gave him a small smile.

              “I know.  I know it isn’t.”  He kissed Hannibal back, long enough that he felt Simone pull on his hand as she made a face.

              “I’ll see you later.” Will whispered, and he let Simone pull him from the room, his emotions roiling between pain and affection, loss and love, in a manner that reminded him too much of his old self.

* * *

              On Tuesday, two days before the big dinner party for Louie, Hannibal decided they didn’t have enough meat. 

              It was midnight when they began packing supplies into two new backpacks (anything that ever got evidence on it had to be burned, and there was no shortage of funds in the Estate Lecter).  They changed into classic, almost cartoonish-looking burglar outfits, pure black from head to toe, including ski masks _just_ in case.  The dinner party was going to be high-end, and thus Hannibal wanted high-end meat.  He’d already picked out the rich neighborhood where he wanted the meat from; an old-money aristocrat who had offended him some time ago in some manner Will couldn’t remember.

              They were almost ready to go when they heard a blood-curdling scream erupt from Simone’s room.  Without thinking, adrenaline rushing through his veins, Will ran across the hall into her room and flicked on the light.  She was clutching the blanket with white knuckles, her hair a disheveled mess about her face from her tossing before she woke up.

              “Will!” she cried, diving across her bed to him, and he sat and pulled her quickly into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around her, kissing the top of her head.

              “Shhh, it was just a dream.” he said.  “You’re safe.  You’re safe.”

              She clutched his shirt, nodding, her eyes flung wide, wide open.

              “I dreamed that my dad found me.  He came in my window.  Except my room was in my old apartment, but it looked like this room.  But he found me, and came in my window.  I had your knife with me, Will, and I was trying to open it, but it was stuck, and he was hitting me and hitting me and then he was gonna break my neck.”

              Will held her tightly, rocking back and forth gently, stroking her hair with his fingers.

              “He can’t get you.” he said softly.  “He can’t get you and he’ll never hurt you again.  He can’t get out.  No one has ever escaped from us.”

              He said it without thinking, only realizing after the fact how _weird_ what he’d just said was; the idea that murderers held her father captive somewhere was not supposed to be a comforting thought; and yet, in this family, it was.

              Simone turned her head and saw Hannibal standing in the doorway, dressed all in black.  She pulled her head back and looked at Will then, wiping the tears from her eyes.

              “Are you guys going murdering?”

              “Hunting.” Hannibal corrected.  “Murder would imply that we were killing our equals, and we are not.”

              Will gave him a Look that said _not now, Hannibal_.

              “Can I come?”

              Somehow, this was the Lecter equivalent of a child asking if they could sleep in their parents’ bed for the rest of the night.

              Will’s expression changed from daggers to pleading, and Hannibal only gave the slightest sigh.

              “I’m not going to have a say in this, am I?”

              “We’re going to have to teach her at some point.” Will said.  “She’s already given us Louie; why not let her help with the rest of the party?”

              Simone turned her face to look fully at Hannibal then, and with the pleading expressions of both she and Will combined, he sighed and uncrossed his arms.

              “Get dressed.” he said.  “All black.”

              She squealed with delight and leapt off Will’s lap towards her closet.  Half of what she owned was already black.  She began picking out clothes with delight.

              “My first murder outfit!” she exclaimed.

              “Your clothes will be burned afterwards.” Hannibal cautioned.  “So wear something you can part with.”

              She nodded, humming as she went through her entire wardrobe, the way Will imagined she would do someday before her first date.  He rose and gave Hannibal a long, gentle kiss on his lips.

              “You’re a great dad.” he said.

              “Father.” Hannibal corrected.  Will snorted and gave him another peck.

             

              They left the car parked on a side street, along which ran an eight-foot high wrought-iron fence which disappeared into the darkness at both ends.  On the other side of the fence was a wall of neatly-trimmed hedges, such that anyone walking along the sidewalk would not be able to peer into the Estate Bicharnne. 

              They exited the car, three silent shadows in the night, Simone as quiet as she always was.  During the drive Hannibal had given her a string of instructions which culminated into “Stay quiet, stay hidden, and do exactly as Will and I tell you.”  They explained to her that here, their goal was to kidnap.  Killing happened at one of their safe locations, where it was okay to make a mess.

              “Because Will needs to make a mess.” Simone had said, and at that, Hannibal’s entire demeanor had changed from begrudging to endeared.

              “Yes, exactly.”

              The three of them walked quickly around the corner to the back side of the estate, where they came upon a service gate.  It was secured with nothing more than a simple padlock, which Will picked expertly in seconds.

              “Will you teach me…”

              “Yes, shhh.” he said softly.  “Everything, Simone.”

              His heart was nearly going to burst with affection.  He could hardly believe that this, somehow, was his life.  The three of them quickly made their way across the lawn towards the pool house, where the lights were on.  They came to a row of potted topiaries that lined the walkway between the pool house and the main house, and Will lifted Simone up into one of the enormous concrete pots.

              “You stay here, hidden and silent, until you see us leaving, and then you follow us out immediately.” he said.  She nodded quietly, her gloved fingers clasped over the lip of the pot, shrinking down until only her eyes appeared over the edge.  Will and Hannibal both hid behind other shrubs, and then they waited.

              They waited for a long time.  Hannibal had explained to Simone the importance of knowing your prey; he knew, for example, that on Tuesdays Monsieur Bicharnne had a mistress visit him, in his pool house, after his wife was asleep.

              Will hadn’t asked him how he’d gotten that information.  Some other dinner party, during a conversation of idle chatter; probably years ago back when Hannibal had decided to kill the man. 

              Above him, in the planter, Will heard Simone shift her weight, very quietly, only twice.  She was better at this than he was, he thought.

              Finally, the front door of the pool house opened, and they heard the clip-clip-clip of sharp heels on the bricks as the mistress left for the night.  They waited until their prey exited the pool house himself, shutting off the lights and hurrying down the path, intent on getting home before his wife missed him.

              The moment he crossed between them, he was met with a bag over his head from Will and a blow to the back of his head from Hannibal, so quickly that he hadn’t even had time to shout.

              “Come.” he said to the planter, and Simone quickly dropped down from it, hurrying along behind them as Hannibal tossed the man over his shoulder.  They slipped back out through the gate and replaced the lock with another.  Then they bound their victim’s wrists and ankles and tossed him in the trunk.

              The three were back in their car and along the road to the country quickly.

              “That was incredible!  You guys moved so _smooth_ …”

              “Smoothly.” Hannibal corrected, and Will rolled his eyes.

              “Smoothly,” Simone accepted, “Like two ghosts, but you were so…so…a _team_.” she said.  “It was so cool.”

              Will couldn’t keep the glow from his cheeks if he’d tried.

              “You were perfectly quiet yourself.” he said.  “Excellent work.”

              “I didn’t _do_ anything.”

              “Exactly.” Hannibal said, reaching a hand behind into the back seat to rub a thumb over her cheek.  “You did exactly nothing that could get us caught.  Tell me, Simone, what evidence did we leave behind?”

              “Um…we left evidence?”

              “There is always evidence.” Hannibal said. 

              “But, we kept our hair, inside the hats, mine is even braided, we didn’t lose any…”

              “We still may have lost a few.  But having been outdoors, the wind will quickly take that away.  That is not a concern.  However, being outdoors does lend itself to footprints.”

              Simone’s eyes grew wide with horror.

              “Oh no!  I left my footprints in the planter, and your footprints, on the path and in the dirt…”

              “Which is not a concern, so long as we rid ourselves of the shoes we’re wearing.” Hannibal replied.

              Simone looked down at her shoes and frowned.

              “We can buy you new ones.” Hannibal replied.  “Material things are not of importance, Simone.”

              Will had to struggle not to laugh.  His expression was not lost on Hannibal.

              “Freedom, and keeping this family safe, is _above_ material possessions.” he corrected, and Will turned and gave him an adoring look after that.

              Halfway to the farmhouse, their victim woke up and started screaming and pounding on the inside of the trunk.

              “That is very annoying.” Simone said, and the change of tone in her voice made Will turn around.  Her face, which was normally _so_ expressive, now appeared completely deadpan.  Her eyes appeared empty, her mouth slack, every emotion from her appeared to be gone. 

              “Simone?”

              “Hannibal, may we pull over and make him be quiet again?” she asked, her voice so emotionless it made Hannibal look like a hormonal wreck.

              “We are nearly there, my dear; and once we get there, I promise, you may be the one to make him be silent.”

              A smile turned at the corner of Simone’s lips, but the rest of her face remained unmoved.  It was incredibly creepy, and Will found himself staring, though she didn’t seem to mind.

              “That would be lovely, Father.” she said, and then it was Hannibal who could not keep the smile from his own face.

 

              They drove across the dirt road that led up to the farmhouse, curses coming from the trunk each time they hit a pothole.  Hannibal pulled up to the side of the house, and Will got out of the car with their set of keys to unlock the front door.  Simone remained behind, preferring to follow Hannibal as he walked across the lawn with a struggling man tossed over his shoulders.

              “He’s no different than a fish.” she observed, her voice still in that empty, emotionless tone, though her head cocked to the side as it always did when she was curious.  Will held the door open for them, the sound of the screen swinging shut echoing through the night as he shut the main door.

              They walked down into the basement, three sets of footsteps on the wooden stairs.  This basement was much smaller than the one they had Simone’s father held in; this one had no cages and no place to hold a prisoner.  It was not meant for keeping live prey. 

              It did, however, have a workspace and three freezers lining the far wall.

              Will reached up and pulled the cord on the light, the cobblestone floor stained with blood in many places, stains upon stains, and Simone’s eyes traced over it, wide and learning.

              Hannibal tossed the struggling man into a wooden chair with arms.  Will came over with a knife, sliced the rope that bound his wrists, and the two of them wordlessly each grabbed one of his wrists and bound it to the arms of the chair. 

              “Who are you?  What do you want with me?  I’m very, very rich, my wife will wire you whatever sum you wish…”

              Hannibal ripped the bag off of his head and stood in front of him, waiting as he squinted in the light for his eyes to adjust.

              “Doctor Lecter?” he said, thrown.

              “Jean.” Hannibal replied.  “I’m sure you’re aware that whatever monetary reward you are prepared to offer, it will make no difference to me.”

              Jean squinted, utterly confused, to the point that he’d stopped struggling.  Hannibal stepped back, to reveal Will, holding a sharp, dirty, blood-stained knife in his hands.

              “Monsieur Lecter?” Jean asked.

              Will stepped forward so that the tip of the knife was under Jean’s chin, lifting his face to look up at him.

              “Did you want to tell him what he did that so offended you, my love?” Will said, his voice gravelly and rough, a tone Simone had never heard before.  The smile on her face grew wider.

              “I changed my mind, Father.” she said, turning to Hannibal.  “I want to watch Will kill him.”

              Hannibal was practically beaming.  He reached over and placed a hand on her shoulder with a tight squeeze.

              “It is a sight I enjoy very much myself.” he said.  “He’s your kill, Will.”

              Will grinned, and unlike Hannibal or Simone, his face was _full_ of emotion.  His sneer was maniacal, his eyes wide with so many emotions it was impossible to try to name them, but on top of them all there was _glee_.

              He reached up with his other hand to tangle his fingers in the prey’s hair, yanking his head back, exposing his throat.  He cried out from the motion and then whimpered, his eyes darting away from Hannibal and the little girl and to Will’s face.

              “It seems he doesn’t wish to tell you.” Will said, the wide smile on his face more terrifying than any expression Simone had ever seen on Hannibal, or anyone.

              “What…what do you want from me?” Jean whimpered.  Will snorted.

              “To kill you.” he replied, and with a flick of his wrist, the deep slice across Jean’s throat was complete.  Blood sprayed out from it, hot and steaming in the cool, damp basement air.  Will closed his eyes, leaving the knife plunged into Jean’s throat, his hand clasped over the handle, drenched in blood.  It sprayed on his face, his arms, his chest, and ran down Jean in a river, pooling at their feet, flowing over Will’s shoes. 

              He closed his eyes and inhaled, plunging the knife deeper, the spray of blood spurting with the beats of Jean’s heart, until there was not enough, and it became a flowing river instead, seeping from his neck.

              “Alright, Simone, help me hang it to drain it.” Hannibal said.  She nodded, wordless, eyes alight as they took in her surroundings.  Hannibal showed her their pulley system, and let her clasp the hook around the rope that bound Jean’s ankles.  She crawled through the puddle of warm blood happily, almost giddy, looking down at it as it smeared on her hands and knees and shins.

              “Now I’ll pull to elevate him, and you pull the chair away when I tell you.” Hannibal said.  She nodded and rose, wiping sweat from her eyes with her hand, getting smears of blood across her face.  She stood behind the chair and waited.  Will was still standing in front of Jean, hand still plunged into his throat.

              “Shhhh….” he whispered, his voice shaky and trembling in the small basement.  “He’s still here.”

              Simone tilted her head to the side, uncertain of what Will meant.  She turned to Hannibal for explanation.

              “Will feels things in a way that is unlike the rest of us.” he explained.  “It is possible that Monsieur is still alive.  Will will wait, until every wisp of his essence has left him.”

              Simone turned, her eyes studying Will’s face, watching the emotions dance across it as he felt the amber light leaving Jean.

              After what felt like an eternity, Will shifted, and opened his eyes.  The first thing he saw were Simone’s, staring back at him, an expression of absolute awe on her face.

              Will blinked, and rose, pulling the knife from Jean’s throat.  He stepped back and Jean began to slump forward.

              “Now, Simone.” Hannibal said, and he yanked on the rope.  She pulled the chair away, as instructed, and Will caught the carcass as it fell, holding it up to keep it from getting bruised on the floor.  Hannibal hoisted, until the carcass was hanging by its ankles, the blood running down in rivers to the drain in the basement floor.

              Will felt Hannibal’s firm hand reach to gently take the knife from him.  He released it, and then remained still, in a haze.  He then felt a smaller hand come to his, wrapping around his fingers.  He blinked, and looked down at Simone.

              “Will, that was amazing.” she said, her usual expression back, now; eyes bright and full of life and adoration.

              He smiled at her, and it was his usual, easy, kind smile.

              “No matter how often I hear that, I’m never going to believe it.” he said, and Hannibal gave him an adoring peck on his cheek.

              “That’s because you can’t see yourself in the midst of the kill.  But now we have two opinions on the matter, and we both agree.  There is nothing like it.” he said.  Will sighed and turned his lips to press them against Hannibal’s.  He’d meant for it to be a quick kiss, but the glow from the kill was still powerfully strong inside of him, and he tilted his head, diving in for more.

              “Ewwww.” Simone said, and Will pulled away, eyes fluttering, cheeks flushed.

              “Alright, let’s get washed up.” Hannibal said.   He turned and pulled Simone up off the ground and into his arms.  She squealed with delight.

              “Hannibal!  I’m too old to be carried!”

              “Jean wasn’t too old to be carried.” he said playfully, messing her hair, and she giggled and squealed as he walked up the stairs with her to the first floor.  Will followed after them in a glowing daze, surrounded by too many wonderful things, too overcome with emotions to speak.

             

              The guest bathroom in the farmhouse hadn’t been used in quite awhile, and Hannibal insisted on dusting it and cleaning out the shower before he would let Simone use it.  She and Will both watched Hannibal with amused smiles, all three of them covered in drying blood, as he knelt down into the shower to scrub the floor tiles until it was spotless to his standards.

              “There.” he said, straightening up with a cracking sound as his bones popped.  “It is suitable for you, now.”

              Simone hopped off the toilet where she’d been sitting and smiled up at him.

              “Thank you.” she said.  He opened his mouth to give her further instruction and she shook her head.

              “Don’t worry, I know.  Will explained how to get all the blood off last time.”

              He nodded, and turned to the large t-shirt and shorts from Will’s wardrobe that was folded neatly on the bathroom counter for her to sleep in.

              “We shall get you a proper second wardrobe.” he said, as Simone turned on the water and waited for it to get hot.  She laughed.

              “A murder wardrobe?”

              Hannibal reached out his bloodied hand and stroked it gently over her cheek.

              “Yes, my dear.”

              Will shook his head with affection.

              “Murder is fine, but heaven forbid we not be properly dressed.”

              Hannibal gave him an annoyed look, which only made his smile wider.

              “Come on, Hannibal.  Let’s get ourselves cleaned up.  I’ll be back down after we’re clean to tuck you in, Simone.” Will said, and she nodded, the smile on her face growing ever-wider as they left and shut the door gently behind her.

              “I’m not being fussy.” Hannibal said, the moment they were in their own bathroom, peeling bloodied clothes from their bodies.  When they were both naked, Will pressed Hannibal against the cabinet, capturing his chin in his fingers.

              “You are indeed being fussy, and I love you for it.” he said, leaning in to press a kiss to Hannibal’s lips.  He had meant it to be short and affectionate, but the moment he tasted Hannibal’s breath in his throat, Will groaned softly and leaned into him, pressing their naked bodies together.

              “Will.” Hannibal said, his voice husky and dark.  Will pulled back and saw the desire in his eyes.  He smirked and turned around, twisting the faucet until the hot water came out.  He looked over his shoulder with a flirty expression and stepped into the steaming water.  Hannibal was not far behind him, slamming the shower door closed a bit more roughly than was necessary.

              Hannibal’s chest was pressed into Will’s back, Will’s body pushed up against the tiled wall so fast it forced him to exhale.  Hannibal’s lips were upon his neck as he gave a soft growl, licking up the blood, leaving wet, hot trails over his skin.  His lascivious, irresistible tongue traced over the back of Will’s neck and then to the other side, lapping over his throat, over his Adam’s apple, then down his shoulder.

              Will moaned, pushing his body back against Hannibal’s, tilting his head back to let him in.

              “Being intimate is going to be more difficult now, with a child around.” Hannibal whispered in his ear.  “But I will still find ways to have you.”

              Will’s breath came out in a shudder, and Hannibal reached up to lather soap over his hands.  He started to wash Will’s body, the blood turning the water pink as it rushed down into the drain.  Hannibal made no attempt to pretend he was doing anything other than touching Will for his own sexual gratification, his hands lingering over every part of Will, but rubbing his ass and spreading his cheeks the most, followed by rough, desperate strokes to his cock.

              Will let him do as he pleased, his forehead falling to rest against the cool tile of the shower wall, his breath hitching as he felt Hannibal’s cock, slicked with soap, press against his hole.

              “This is going to burn.” Hannibal growled, though it was not an apology and Will wasn’t going to stop him.  He pressed in, and Will sucked in air from the pain, trying to keep his voice down even though Simone was all the way on the first floor.

              Hannibal settled, the warmth of his balls resting against Will’s ass, his arms wrapping tightly around his stomach and chest.

              He slid out and thrust, and Will whimpered, the back of his hand flying to his mouth to try to keep quiet.  Hannibal thrust again, hard, rough, needy.  It took a good few minutes before Will adjusted, before it started to feel good, but then he relaxed and opened himself up, both physically and emotionally.

              When he let his empathy free, the amber light from his kill shone out of Hannibal and into him, Hannibal’s desire for him, affection for him, appreciation of him all flowing together to overwhelm Will with pleasant wave after pleasant wave.  He groaned with pleasure, forgetting to keep quiet, and Hannibal reached up a hand to cover his mouth for him.

              “You are gorgeous when you take a life.” Hannibal whispered into his ear.  His other hand reached up to stroke through Will’s hair, tangling in his curls, yanking Will’s head back as he whispered in his ear.  “There is nothing on this Earth as beautiful as you, my vicious, insatiable beast.”

              Hannibal’s words swirled in Will’s brain as his emotions mingled through his body, his affection, his love, his adoration of Will.  Will’s muscles became useless, his joints turning to jelly as he was barely able to hold himself up.  Hannibal’s strong arms held him in place, pounding his cock into him, joining them together in passion and pleasure.

              Will’s body started to sing, and he knew Hannibal was close.  His thrust grew rougher, if that was possible, his fingers clasping tightly against Will’s skin, slamming Will into the wall as the water flowed hot down his back.  Hannibal purred into his ear, and with a soft, almost inaudible whimper, slammed himself into Will and stayed there, his body twitching with pleasure.

              Will cried out for the both of them, Hannibal’s orgasm flooding his emotions, making his own body follow suit.  Hannibal reached a hand around to wrap Will’s cock in his palm, catching his release on his fingers to bring up to his lips and eat.  The golden light from his kill spread through every pore and nerve, until Will was a quivering heap that tried to sink to the floor of the shower, but Hannibal held him up.

              “Shhhh, I have you.” he said, reaching over to shut off the water.  Hannibal supported him as he stepped out of the shower and toweled him down, tousling his hair and rubbing roughly over every part of his body until he was dry. 

              He guided Will to the bed and kissed his forehead.

              “I…Simone…”

              “I will put her to bed.” Hannibal said gently.  “You can barely stand.  You’ve just had both of your deepest desires fulfilled in a short span of time.  Enjoy it, Will, and rest.”

              Hannibal kissed him gently on his lips and left, and Will sighed deeply, melting into the mattress, asleep with a satisfied smile on his face before Hannibal even returned.


	10. Judgement

The hired kitchen staff was as delighted with Simone as anyone else.  They found it endearing that an eleven-year-old knew her way _so well_ around the kitchen, so much so that they _all_ began asking her for help.

              “Simone, would you fetch me the girolle, please?” Chloe asked, and Simone was delighted to show that she knew exactly which of the specialized cheese tools it was.  Hannibal beamed from ear to ear, making no effort to keep his pride from his face.

              “You teach her well, Doctor Lecter.” Antoine said.

              “She is an excellent student.” Hannibal replied.  “She even helped me select the meat.” He gave her a wink, and she smiled brightly, far more excited about an adult dinner-party than any normal child would be.

              When it was an hour before the guests were to arrive, Hannibal sent her upstairs to get ready, following not long after.  Will, as per usual, followed Hannibal’s explicit instructions on what to wear, standing perfectly still while Hannibal tied his tie and fastened his cufflinks for him.  On these occasions Hannibal wouldn’t even let him style his own hair; and Will had gotten so used to it that it took him a moment to snap out of the pleasant haze he’d been in, sitting on the vanity chair while Hannibal combed through his locks.

              He heard it again, and stood up abruptly.

              “Will!  Now I have to start over…”

              “You don’t hear her?” he asked, rushing from the bathroom and down the hall to Simone’s.  The door was closed and he listened, hearing again the frustrated screech.

              “I _hate_ my hair!”

              Relieved that it was nothing more serious, Will knocked gently on the door.

              “Simone?”

              “Um…yes?” she replied back, her voice suddenly much softer.

              “Are you alright?”

              Silence.

              Hannibal finally caught up to him and stood beside Will, a curious expression on his face.

              “What seems to be the problem?” he asked.

              “Simone is upset with her hair.” Will replied.

              “No…I…it just won’t do what I want.  I’ve never worn anything but a braid, I don’t know how.” she said, her voice meek and ashamed as it echoed through the door.

              “Simone, would you like me to do your hair for you?” Hannibal asked, his tone far gentler than Will ever recalled it being. 

              The doorknob turned slowly, the door creaking as it was pulled open, Simone wearing only a slip, her hair tangled in a mess with half-tied ribbons above her head.

              “You know how to do girls’ hair, Hannibal?” she asked, her cheeks red from embarrassment.

              “Yes.  I am knowledgeable in all manner of fashion.” he said.  “If you like, I will spend my time on your hair, and I’ll leave Will to his own devices.  He doesn’t care what he looks like, anyway.”  
              “Thanks.” Will said, rolling his eyes.  Simone giggled, and opened the door further, so Hannibal could step in.

              “Why don’t you come to our washroom.” he said.  “I have excellent styling tools there.  Bring those ribbons, they will do very nicely.”

              Will sat on the bed while Simone took his place on the vanity chair, and his heart couldn’t have felt warmer.  He watched Hannibal, matter-of-factly explaining every step he did to her as he did it, from combing it straight to dividing to bunching, asking her to hold this and did she like that.  When he had first decided to make a life with Hannibal he had never, ever envisioned that it would turn out like this. 

              When she finally emerged, her long, dark brown hair in gentle curls, held back by flowing black ribbons that perfectly matched her dress, Will let the warmth from his heart infect his smile.

              “Just beautiful.” he said.  She looked up at Hannibal and her eyes crinkled, absolute joy on her face.

              “I never thought I would have a real family.” she said.  Will’s heart lurched.

              “Neither did I.” Hannibal responded, brushing his thumb over her cheek.  “And look at how wrong we both were.”

             

              The guests began arriving promptly at seven, and the three Lecters stood at the door to greet them.  Simone smiled brightly, curtseying in her brand-new dress as she welcomed each guest.  It was all black and fell to her knees, where it flared out in a pattern of lace.  The sleeves came to just below her elbows, short enough for the late summer weather.  She wore dark grey tights and black Mary Jane shoes, along with her hair, done up in matching black ribbons.  She was the picture of high society and, Will thought, the creepy child from every horror movie.  She was the center of every conversation.

              “Doctor Lecter, Monsieur Lecter.” Doctor Chaeuse said, the head of the Psychology department at Paris Descartes University. 

              “Doctor Chaeuse.” Hannibal said, bowing gracefully as he took her hand.

              “And who is this angel?” she replied, forgetting Will entirely, and to Will’s delight, Hannibal didn’t seem to mind at all.  He rather liked Doctor Chaeuse and didn’t particularly wish to kill her.

              “Simone Halpert, Madame.  It’s nice to meet you.  Welcome to our home.” Simone said.

              For what must have been the thirtieth time, Simone curtsied, bowing her head ever so slightly, in perfect grace.  She didn’t seem to tire of it at all.

              “She is our foster daughter.” Hannibal said.  “Whom we hope to adopt, eventually.”

              It must have been the thirtieth time Hannibal had said the line, yet Will could feel the joy beaming from Simone at hearing it, just the same.

              “It is lovely to meet you, Simone.” Doctor Chaeuse said.  Simone gave her a brilliant smile.  The doctor then headed in to the party, and the three turned to greet their next guest.

              “Mrs. Lutte!” Simone said, her eyes brightening a bit more, if that was even possible.

              “Simone, my, don’t you look lovely!”

              “Thank you!  Hannibal did my hair.” she said, curtseying once more, though this time she bowed her head a bit lower to show off her curls.

              She rose, and the case worker saw an entirely different child than the one she had previously known.

              “She is completely transformed.” she said, holding out a hand to shake Hannibal’s, and then Will’s.  “I have never seen her happy before.  You two are wonderful.”

              “Thank you.” Hannibal said graciously.  “But it is Simone who has transformed us, and this home.” he said.  “Simone, would you like to give Mrs. Lutte a tour?” he asked.  She nodded enthusiastically, and took the social worker’s hand in hers to lead her into the house.

              “This is the sitting room where we spend our evenings!” Simone said happily.  “Did you know that healthy families spend their evenings together?  That’s what Hannibal told me.” she said.  Mrs. Lutte tried to keep her eyes from the fancy trappings and focused on Simone, though it was difficult, passing a grand piano on the left and a marble statue on the right. 

              “That’s the piano.  Hannibal plays _really_ well.  He says I can have lessons, but right now I’m choosing art lessons instead.  This is my drawing table!” she said, pulling the older woman to the far window, where her drafting table stood.  “I’ve displayed my best pieces for the party!  Look see, this is Will, while he’s fishing.  He takes me fishing, though I’m not very good at it.  So I sit on the bank and I draw while I watch him fish.  I’m learning all the names of the plants, and about nature, and how to gut a fish…and _then_ , Hannibal teaches me how to _cook_ the fish, and we all eat the fish Will and I caught together for dinner!”

              Mrs. Lutte had a difficult time keeping her eyes from misting.  In all her years working in child services, she had never gotten to experience a success story of this magnitude before.

              She pulled out the drawing chair and sat on it, so she would be eye-level with Simone, and held both her hands in her palms.

              “Simone, it sounds like you are happy living here.”  
              “Oh yes, very much.  They call me a Lecter, and we’re a family, and they’re trying to adopt me, they say how I belong with them, and I call Hannibal ‘Father’ sometimes, and it makes him smile.” she said. 

              “Yes, it’s true; they have put in papers to try to adopt you.  Which is one reason I decided to attend this party.  I wanted a chance to speak with you, just the two of us, and ask you if you really want this.”

              Simone’s brown eyes looked brilliant and sincere when she nodded.

              “I could never be happy anywhere else.” she said.  “There is no one else I would want to adopt me.”

              Mrs. Lutte smiled then, her face as tired as always, but there was a brightness in her eyes.  She leaned forward and gave Simone a short hug.

              “Then I will give my recommendation to the judge that I feel they should be allowed to adopt you.” she said.

              “Thank you, very much.” Simone said, returning the hug.  “Now let me show you my room!”

              By the time Simone had finished giving a tour, the string of arriving guests had dwindled and Hannibal and Will began to make rounds throughout the party.  Simone eventually left Mrs. Lutte and returned to their side, where she happily responded to the same three questions, over and over again; how old are you, what grade are you in, do you like living with Monsieur Lecter?

              Whenever Hannibal caught a guest enjoying any of the hors d'oeuvres, he would pause to ask them how they liked it.

              “Exquisitely delicious, as always.” Doctor Chaeuse said.

              “Lovely.” Hannibal replied, mask fully intact and so thick that even Will could not see through it, though he knew exactly the emotions Hannibal had underneath.  “Simone helped me prepare the meat herself.”

              He turned to her with delight on his face, and she grinned back up at him, her face glowing in that they held this secret together.  Will subconsciously found himself giving her shoulder a squeeze now and then, and she’d turn to him with the same smile; brilliant and beautiful, as real as Will’s friendliness, yet as thick a mask as Hannibal’s.

              They appeared to be the healthiest, most well-adjusted family in France.

              Several kilometers away, Simone’s father let out a blood-curdling scream of despair, clutching the dried, bloody cloth that Hannibal had wrapped around his skinned fingers as he lay in the dirt in his cage in the basement.

 * * *

              Will had thought he was used to the high-end clothes Hannibal dressed him in by now, but on the way to the courthouse, suddenly his tie was too tight and his shirt was too itchy and his pants were too constraining.

              “Stop fussing.  Everything will fall into place.” Hannibal told him, brushing a hair from his elbow.

              “I can’t help it.  This is too important.  And it brings back bad memories, from the last time I was in court, and the last time _you_ were in court…”

              “And both of those times, the verdict we wanted is what came to pass.”

              “You had to murder a judge to keep me from getting convicted.”

              “You say that as if it isn’t an option in this case.” Hannibal said, moving his free hand down to clasp over Will’s as he held the steering wheel with the other.  “We will do whatever is necessary to make Simone ours.”

              Will turned and saw nothing but passive calmness on Hannibal’s face.

              “You really want her with us.” he said.

              “Of course.  You should see how happy she makes you.”  
              Will snorted a short laugh, one side of his mouth pulling up in a nervous tick.

              “Don’t try to pretend she doesn’t make you happy, too.”

              “She does.” Hannibal stated, though his face remained perfectly impassive.  He was already set for going out in public.  “I enjoy her.” he said.  “More than I thought I would.”

              Will settled back in his seat, the warm glow that he now recognized as his love for Simone making him simultaneously calm and jittery.

              They walked into the courtroom and there was Mrs. Lutte, waiting to greet them.  She smiled and they shook hands, the soft murmur of other parents and child guardians speaking around them.  They sat and waited as each case was called up, one by one.

              “The matter of custody for Simone Halpert.” the judge read, and Hannibal gave Will’s hand a tight squeeze.  The three of them rose and stepped forward to stand before the judge.

              “Doctor and Monsieur Lecter are petitioning the court for permanent adoption of Simone Halpert, is that correct?”

              “Yes, your Honor.” Hannibal said, and while Will could _feel_ him squirming underneath, he gave no outward indication whatsoever of the distaste he felt at such a phrase.

              “And Martha Lutte, you are her guardian appointed by the State?”

              “Yes, your honor.”

              The judge paused while he read through some papers.

              “The State became guardian of Simone due to abandonment from her biological father…seven weeks ago.”

              “Yes, that is correct.”

              “And she has spent all seven weeks placed in your home, Monsieurs Lecter?”

              “Yes.” Hannibal said.  The judge turned to Mrs. Lutte.

              “How is the child faring in her new home?”

              “Very well, your Honor.  They are excellent parents.  Her every need is met; food, clothing, housing, education, emotional support.  She appears happier than I’ve ever seen her.”

              The judge nodded.

              “What do you do for a living, Doctor Lecter?”

              “I am a psychiatrist, leading in my field.  I am published and give lectures at universities, and consult within the psychiatric community.”

              “Yes, I see you are very esteemed in your field.”

              Will could almost _see_ Hannibal preening with pride.

              “And what do you do, Monsieur Lecter?”

              “I’m a criminal profiler, your Honor.  I consult with the Prefecture of Police in Paris, on difficult to solve cases.”

              The judge nodded once again, his face appearing impassive, but Will could feel the disapproval brimming under the surface.  He frowned, trying to understand what could possibly…

              “And you two are married?”

              “Yes, ten years.” Hannibal said.  The judge looked down at both of them and folded his hands.  Will bristled, and Hannibal tensed in response.

              “What makes you think that two gay men have the proper knowledge to raise a little girl?”

              Will was ready to bare his teeth _right then_.

              “Every child deserves a good father.” Hannibal said.  “And we are better guardians than her biological father, who has abandoned her and allegedly gone on a killing spree.”

              “Hmmm.” the judge said.  He read the papers again, and frowned.

              “Well, since the father is not deceased, it is in the best interest of the child, and necessary for the State, to hear his position on the matter.”

              “Your Honor, the father cannot be found…” Mrs. Lutte tried.

              “We will grant temporary guardianship to Hannibal and Will Lecter.  Permanent adoption will not be considered until the father can be reached for comment.”

              Will was seething when we left, and Hannibal’s demeanor was nothing short of icy.

              “About murdering judges…” he started.

              “Let me work out the logistics.” Hannibal responded, his tone sending a shiver down Will’s spine in a way that used to terrify him, and now was his favorite sensation.

 * * *

              Judge Hawthorne’s vision swam as he came around to consciousness again.  Burglars had entered his bedroom while he slept, putting a cloth over his mouth and then he’d fallen asleep again…

              He struggled against the ropes that tied him to his chair.  His eyes darted around, his wisps of white hair flying in all directions as he turned his head.  His vision finally cleared, and before him stood two men…and a little girl?

              “Ah, welcome back.” Hannibal said.  The judge frowned.  This situation wasn’t making any sense.  The girl didn’t appear frightened.  Instead she looked…angry.  And she was wearing a formal dress, white cotton tied in the middle with a pale blue bow.

              “Who…who are you?” was the best question he could come up with.

              “Wow.  He doesn’t even _remember_ the people whose lives he destroyed today.” Will said, still leaning against the man’s dresser, tapping his gloved fingertips on the lip of it.

              “You don’t recall denying Simone the real family she dreams of?” Hannibal said, stroking his gloved fingers gently over her long hair, which on rare occasion was loose and unbound by any braids or ribbons.  Strands of it were, no doubt, falling to the carpet.  Hannibal had every detail worked out.

              “I…what?” the judge said, squinting.  “Wait…you’re that gay couple who wanted to adopt a little girl, of all things.  Is that you, darling?” the judge said.

              At that, Simone revealed the knife in her ungloved hand, which she’d been hiding behind her back.  She stepped forward, hatred in her eyes.

              “You don’t even know who I am, and you tried to squish me.” she said.  “You tried to take away my family.”

              She lifted the tip of the knife up under the judge’s chin, in exact imitation of the way she had seen Will do only a few days before.  He instinctually lifted his chin to get away from the blade.  His eyes darted up to the two men who stood silently, watching.

              “D…do something!” he cried. 

              “Oh, believe me, we tried.” Will said.  “But you didn’t feel like listening.  Why don’t you tell her, to her face, Judge?  The reason she can’t have a family.”

              A bead of sweat formed at the top of the judge’s brow, sliding down the side of his face as he stared at three _completely insane_ people.  His eyes darted to the little monster that stood in front of him, her face expressionless but her eyes searing with anger.

              “I…I..uh…was clearly mistaken.” he said, his voice shaky.  “I um, must not have, listened carefully enough to all the facts…”

              “Oh?  Which fact did you skip over?” Hannibal said, reaching into his pocket to pull out the transcript from earlier that day.

              “Was it ‘since the father is not deceased, it is in the best interest of the child, and necessary for the State, to hear his position on the matter.’?  Is that what you’re waiting to hear, judge?  The position of her father on the matter?”

              Simone’s wrist trembled with rage and she pressed the blade in, the judge whimpering as it pierced his skin, small drops of blood running down the blade.

              “My father beat me until I bruised.” she said.  “He hit me with his hands, and choked me, and all my clothes had holes and he didn’t care, and I never had a proper meal!  Hannibal and Will give me _all_ those things, plus they are _nice_ to me and I _like_ them!  What do you need Andre Halpert’s opinion for?  Why isn’t _my_ opinion about _my life_ good enough for you!?”

              Will had never heard Simone shout before.  He’d barely ever heard her raise her voice above a whisper.  But now, her voice echoed off the walls, her tone a raging snarl as she bared her teeth and pressed the blade deeper into the judge’s neck.

              “I was wrong!  I’ll change the judgement, just just…just get me a pen!” the judge said.

              “Well hold on now, we haven’t read through all the facts.” Hannibal replied, turning the page.  “Let’s hear your other views on the matter.  Ah, here we are.  ‘What makes you think that two gay men have the proper knowledge to raise a little girl?’  So true, judge.  So true.  Her straight father was so much better for her.  How many times did he send you to the hospital, dear?”

              “ _Three_.” Simone spat, and Will tensed.  Somehow they had hid that from him.  Hannibal’s hand was quick to cover his and subdue him back into silence. 

              “Hmm.  And how many times has Will or I sent you to the hospital?” he said, matter-of-factly.

              “ _None_.” she said, her face suddenly widening in a grin.  Compared with the fierce anger she’d been expressing earlier, the dramatic change sent goosebumps along Will’s skin.

              “Ah.  So, her straight father is clearly the better parent, then.” Hannibal said, closing the pages and folding them neatly back into his pocket.

              “As I said, I’m sorry!” the judge screamed.

              “You will be.” she replied.  She turned back to look at her parents, her eyes locking onto Hannibal’s.

              “Now, father?”

              “Do you feel satisfied, my dear?”

              “Yes.”

              He nodded.

              “Then go ahead.”

              With rage, she screamed and plunged the knife into the judge’s throat.  Her motion was not skilled or strong, so he had time to jerk and twitch and even scream for a short second, before the blade sliced through his esophagus.  He began to choke on his blood, the spray covering Simone, her face, her hair, turning her white dress very, very red.  She closed her eyes and pulled out the knife, intending to drive it in again.

              “No, darling.  One slice, as we discussed.”  Hannibal’s voice was as calm as always.

              “But I _want to_.”

              “You will get to, other times.” he promised.  “But we have a very specific goal in mind tonight.”

              He stepped forward, his shoes making footprints in the blood, and he reached out to wrap his arms tightly around her.  His fingers clasped tightly around the hilt of the blade, prying it from her hand.

              “He is still quite dead, I assure you.” he said softly.  She let go of the blade and looked down at the dying man in front of her.  With his last breath, his eyes slid over to look into hers, and the rage melted from her face as his life left his body.

              “It’s…so easy to kill them.” she said softly, her voice back to its normal, quiet timbre.  She reached up a hand and stroked it gently down the side of the judge’s bloody throat.  “Just one slice, that’s all it takes.”

              She cocked her head to the side, and as the judge stilled, Will watched her shoulders relax.  She let out a heavy exhale and slumped against him, looking content and peaceful, almost sleepy.

              “Just lovely, darling.” Hannibal said.  “Stay right there, Will and I have work to do.”

              Will turned to the bag he had carried in and opened it, pulling out a plastic bag.  He held it open and Hannibal dropped the knife in.  Will put it away and then took out an identical knife, from the same kitchen set that the judge owned, one that they had forced Mr. Halpert to hold and get his fingerprints all over the handle of.  Hannibal walked through the blood again and slid it firmly into the judge’s neck.

              “Don’t touch it, darling.” he reminded, and Simone nodded, sleepy.  Hannibal then inspected the ropes used to tie the judge; ropes which they had told Mr. Halpert to hold onto and then pulled through his hand, getting his skin cells along them. 

              Will then handed Hannibal a small glass bottle with an eye-dropper, which he used to carefully place drops of Mr. Halpert’s blood on the shoulders of the judge’s pajama top, clearly out of place with the rest of the blood spatter. 

              “There, that should be sufficient.” Hannibal said.  “Will, you may call the police now.”

              Will pulled out his cell phone and made the call.

              “112, what is your emergency?”

              “Oh my God, it’s horrific, he, he, there’s blood, _everywhere!_ ” Will cried, his voice shaky and full of emotion.

              “Sir?”

              “We…we were looking for our daughter, we couldn’t find her, so we used the cell phone app, and she was at the judge’s house and…and…”

              With wide, amazed eyes, Simone watched Will as he performed his part as the overwhelmed, hysterical parent who had just discovered his daughter in the lap of a dead, bloody man.  He recounted the story that they were going to tell—that Simone, after hearing that the judge had denied her parents custody, had called a cab and gone to the judge’s house in the middle of the night, to try to convince him to change his mind.

              When she got there, she had found her crazed and insane father already there, with the judge tied to the chair, screaming something about how dare he try to take his daughter away from him.  Simone was to have witnessed the murder, then tried to save the judge by stopping the bleeding, while her insane father ran from the scene and vanished into the night.

              While Simone watched Will play is part into utter believability, Hannibal walked through the blood, down the stairs, and out the front door.  When he got to the curb he removed Mr. Halpert’s shoes from his feet and walked barefoot two blocks to where they’d parked their car.  Once there, he put on his own shoes and drove it around the block to park in front of the house.  By the time he was back, they heard the sirens, and then the police rushing in the front door.           

              “They’re here now, thank you.” Will said, hanging up, actual tears having fallen from his eyes.  Hannibal then pulled Simone into his arms, smearing the blood between them.

              The police came and did their best to calm the sobbing Will and terrified little girl.  For Simone’s part, she was told to speak as little as possible, and to simply look terrified and afraid.  She would be questioned, over and over, and the best way to keep the story consistent was to say next to nothing at all.  She would be traumatized, and the police would hesitate to make her speak.

              She was first checked over by a paramedic, and after determining she was fine, the three of them were brought into the police station.

              They spent over two hours there, giving their witness statements.  Nearly all the police who worked there knew Hannibal and Will and had worked at least once with them.  Nobody suspected them even for a moment; least of all the innocent, darling, poor traumatized little girl, who was so terrified she could barely speak.

              After two hours of questioning, Hannibal politely asked Arthur, who had been woken up from sleep, if they would stop.

              “If any other details come to her, I assure you, we will let you know.” Hannibal said.  “But while Will and I appreciate the necessity of catching this madman, I’m afraid our priorities are a bit different in this case.  We want her home, to rest.  She has been through enough.”

              With pained eyes, Arthur agreed, and they finally let the family leave, just before the sun started to rise.

              “That.  Was so.  _Fun_!” Simone said the moment the car turned the corner away from the police station.  “You played them like _puppets_!” she said. 

              “ _We_ played them like puppets.” Hannibal corrected.  “You are a very important member of this team.”  
              She grinned.

              “ _Will_.  You are the _worst_!” she said, laughing. 

              “He spent a good thirty years fooling everyone, including himself.  Will is more capable of hiding his true nature than you or I will ever be.” Hannibal said, and a blushing smile spread over Will’s face.

              Simone yawned, then, her eyes drooping, and she lay down in the back seat.

              “What’s the next part of the plan?” she asked, sleepily.

              “We’ll re-apply to adopt you, of course.” Hannibal said.  “After this new development, they’ll be forced to revisit the case.”

              “Yay.  I can’t wait to be adopted.” Simone said, her voice lazy and tired, now.

              Marie fussed over her the moment she came home, having been made aware of the situation by Hannibal, who had called earlier.  She got her washed up, fed, and into bed within the hour, and Will and Hannibal were not long behind her.

              “You _were_ brilliant.” Hannibal said as he whispered into Will’s curls, spooning him from behind as they lay in bed.

              “And you are a devious, brilliant monster.” Will replied, snuggling back into him.  Hannibal placed a few gentle kisses to his shoulder, and they both closed their eyes, the family all peacefully asleep after a lovely night of bonding.


	11. Simone Lecter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, it is complete! I NEVER would have gotten this story finished if it wasn't for every one of you who encouraged me, especially the lovely [victorine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/victorine/) , whose beta reading made this ending spectacular! I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you for this wild ride!

“Hold the knife tightly, dear.” Hannibal reminded, and Simone nodded, her tongue sticking out in concentration as she studied the bound, writhing, terrified man in front of her.  He was hanging by his wrists from a beam in the ceiling of the basement, his toes just able to reach the floor, a cloth gag secured tightly around his head, though it didn’t keep him from whimpering.  Simone was standing on a stepstool so she could reach his throat with the proper leverage.

              “Remember our anatomy lessons.  Go for the carotid.  You only need to nick one.”

              Simone’s grip tightened around the handle of the knife.  It was solid, not a flip-knife, which they both felt was too dangerous for learning.  She also didn’t have strength or weight for leverage, so Hannibal had spent a good week explaining to her the advantage and importance of sharpness, and teaching her how to sharpen her own weapon.

              Simone raised the blade and rested it against the flesh of the man’s neck.  He stilled, his eyes growing wide with terror.  Hannibal stood behind her, one hand on her left shoulder, his right hand about six inches away from where she gripped her blade.

              “Quick but deep.” he said, demonstrating the motion in exactly the same way he instructed her in the kitchen.

              She nodded one more time.

              “Hurry, or the meat will start to taste acidic.”

              At the mention of her hesitation ruining dinner, Simone’s eyes grew dark and her mouth turned down in a delighted sneer.

              “We’re going to eat you.” she said, her gaze boring directly into their victim’s eyes, and she sliced.  She pushed the blade into the flesh and away from her body, exactly as she’d been taught, the arterial spray hot and steaming in the humid basement as it spurt from the man’s body.  He screamed.

              “Be quiet!” Simone cried, her voice gravelly and vicious.  She pulled the blade back and sliced his throat, directly through his Adam’s apple, the resistance of the thick nodule causing her hand to slip on the blade.  The blood made it slippery and she lost her grip, immediately trying to catch the knife with her other hand.

              “Ouch!” she cried, the knife clattering to the floor, holding out her hands, covered in blood. 

              Will reacted instantly, scooping her into his arms and whisking her off the stepstool.  He had her by the sink, running the water over her fingers where they’d been sliced.  The pain made her try to pull away, but he wrapped his palm around her wrist like a vice, forcing her fingers under the water.

              Tears slipped down her face, but she cried silently, her sobs quiet as Will wrapped his other arm across her clavicle and held her close.

              “It’s okay.  It happens.” he said.

              “It…hurts….” she said.  Behind them, Will heard Hannibal pulling on the ropes, stringing up the meat to drain, not willing to waste it, especially not when Simone had sacrificed her skin to provide dinner.

              Will pulled her hand out of the water and wrapped it tightly in gauze, squeezing firmly around the four fingers of her left hand.

              “I messed up, I…I got his blood in me, I’m gonna get a disease…”

              “There was no risk of that.” Hannibal said, coming over with his first aid kit.  He gestured for Will to bring her over to the autopsy table where they normally cut the meat from the bones.  He carried her in his arms, setting her gently to sit upon it, and Hannibal turned on the bright surgery lights so he could see.

              “I expected something like this.  I did my research on this one.  Gathered his blood myself and tested it; he has no diseases for you to worry about.”

              Simone’s eyes darted to Will for comfort.

              “Hannibal would never let you be in that kind of danger.” he said, stroking her cheek with his fingers.  “We’ve been reckless in that way; but now that we have you, no more.”

              Will reached out and held her good hand, squeezing it tightly while Hannibal removed the gauze.

              “It’s not deep.” he said.  “Here, this will help with the pain.” he held up a syringe, and Simone buried her face in Will’s chest as Hannibal administered it to her upper arm.  He waited a few minutes and Will simply stroked her hair, trying to keep her calm until the painkiller kicked in and Hannibal could begin to stitch.

              “Hold still now, love.” Hannibal said, and Will’s heart leapt as he heard him use a pet name for her.  She nodded, keeping her face buried in Will’s chest.

              “Why don’t I tell you a story to keep you distracted.” Will said.  Simone nodded, and he continued to pet her hair.  “You asked me once about my first kill.”

              Immediately she pulled her face back and looked up at him with excitement.  Will frowned.

              “I had just met Hannibal.” he began, and Simone smiled through the winces of pain.  “I was hunting another serial killer.  Abigail’s father.”

              Simone’s eyes grew wide at that, but she remained silent, listening.

              “He also ate his victims, but he only killed girls who looked like Abigail.”

              “Will figured that out very quickly for a man who was suppressing his own instincts.” Hannibal added.  “Such brilliance was one of the reasons I was attracted to him.” Hannibal said as he pulled the thread, stitching Simone’s flesh back together, his voice as calm as if they were discussing…well, dinner.

              Will’s blush was enough for the both of them, and it took him a moment to steady his voice before he continued.

              “Anyway, this guy, Garrett Jacob Hobbs, killed girls.  And I hated him for it.  We were out in Minnesota…that’s like the countryside, in the United States, far away from any city, trying to figure out who he was.  That’s when Hannibal left me his first present.”

              Simone managed a quick smile before the pain made her bite her lip.

              “A girl just like the others, but he left her body in the field, to be eaten by the birds, impaled on antlers.”

              Simone cocked her head to the side.

              “Why antlers?”

              “That’s another story.” Will said.  She smiled, then.

              “You said it was Hannibal’s _first_ present to you.”

              Will leaned down then, so his head was level with Simone’s, and looked into her eyes with a bright smile.  “He left me _so_ many presents, Simone.  And as time goes by I will tell you about all of them.”

              Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw the uptick at the edge of Hannibal’s lips, the closest to a smile he could manage while concentrating on his stitchwork.

              “So then I figured out who the killer was.  I was on my way there to arrest him, when Hannibal gave him a call, to warn him I was coming.”

              Simone whirled her head around to stare at Hannibal.

              “Why?”

              Hannibal’s smile was unhindered, now.  Simone stared down at her fingers as he worked, the pain killers kicking in, so that she was more fascinated by the procedure than anything.

              “I wanted to see what Will would do.” he said, simply.  “To see if I was right about him.”

              Simone spun her head back to stare at Will, who now also had a smile on his face.

              “When I got there, he had already killed his wife, and had a knife to Abigail’s throat.  He started to slice it.  I pulled the trigger.  And it felt.  _So_.  Good.  More than I was able to admit, at the time.”

              A wide, brilliant smile beamed from Simone’s face. 

              “And then you fell in love with Hannibal?”

              Hannibal actually _laughed_ , so hard he had to stop his work for a moment.  Will gave him an adoring, annoyed glance.

              “No, that took me a few years.”

              “Years!”

              Simone turned back around to face Hannibal.

              “How many presents did you have to leave him?”

              Hannibal smiled again.

              “Many.” was all he said, pulling on the last stitch, tying the thread off as expertly as if he was still a practicing surgeon.

              “There, all set.  Now to bandage it.”

              Simone looked down at her fingers, neat, perfect stitches across each of her four bloody fingers. 

              “I tried to hold the knife tightly, as you said.”  She lowered her head and stared at her knees.

              Hannibal placed a finger under her chin, lifting it again, and Will felt a surge of affection.

              “It takes practice to become good at killing, just like anything else in life.” he said.  “You will have many more opportunities to improve, until you are a master.”

              She gave him a small smile, then, and he nodded with acceptance, and went back to work, wrapping her fingers tightly in bandages.

              “Will?” she asked, her voice a little shaky.

              “Yes?”

              She stared down at her feet, swinging them a bit as they were a foot above the floor.

              “Why haven’t you killed my dad?  If he was dead, wouldn’t it be easier for you to adopt me?”

              Ugly emotions yanked at Will’s heart, the foremost of which was guilt.

              “Will felt it best that you kill him yourself, when you are ready.” Hannibal said, and Will really wished he’d stop putting words in his mouth—even if they were accurate.

              She lifted her face up to him, then.

              “How long until I’m ready?”

              “I don’t know.” Will said.  “You aren’t yet; but you will be.”

              She nodded softly, looking down at her hand as Hannibal finished tying the last bandage around her fingers.

              “There, all set.  If the staff asks what happened, what will you say?”

              “It was a kitchen accident.  I was cutting peppers and you _told_ me to be careful and I wasn’t paying attention.”

              Hannibal leaned down and pressed a kiss to Simone’s forehead.

              “Delightful child.” he said.  “Now go home with Will and wash up for dinner.  I’ll be home in a few hours.”

              “Yes, Father.”

              Simone hopped down off the table with a bounce, and Will turned to press a quick peck to Hannibal’s cheek on his way out.  He never felt so whole.  Things never felt so right.

 

* * *

 

              Simone did her best to hold still while Hannibal fussed over her dark brown hair, keeping her mouth tightly shut even when he yanked a bit too hard, revealing in the slightest manner that he was also nervous.

              “I have to look as cute and innocent and adorable as possible, Hannibal.” she said, staring down at the nicely healed scars across her fingers as the three of them crowded into the master bath, getting ready for their second petition for Simone’s custody.

              This time, Mrs. Lutte got the court to agree to allow Simone to speak on her own behalf. 

              “And you will be.” Hannibal said, his accent thicker than usual as he spoke around the bobby pins between his teeth.  Will was leaning over the sink with the razor blade, trimming the edges of his beard into a neat, crisp line.

              “Will, do you ever shave your beard off?” Simone asked.

              “I used to, now and then.  Though it’s been years.” he said, tilting his head to the side to work on his sideburns.

              “How come you don’t shave it off?”

              “Hannibal likes it.”

              Simone’s eyes met Hannibal’s in the mirror and she giggled.

              “You guys are great dads.”

              Will had to fight to keep his eyes from watering.  He saw the tiny smile of approval on Hannibal’s face and found himself envying his ability to have practically no emotion.

              Then again, when Hannibal _did_ get emotional, people usually died.

              “Okay, all set.” Hannibal said, tugging the large white ribbon that pulled her curls back into a ponytail.  “Now step out so I can do my own grooming.”

              “Yes, Father.”

              “Don’t wrinkle your dress.”

              “I won’t, Father.”

              Simone walked carefully from the room, not even allowing her pale blue dress to brush against the doorframe as she left.

              Will rinsed his face with a washcloth and then felt the softness of a towel being pressed to his face.  He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes, and let Hannibal dry him.

              “Things will turn out in our favor, Will.” Hannibal said, his voice as calm and even as ever.  Will took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes to look into his husband’s face, the rock he stood upon, the foundation that held him steady.

              “Sometimes it frightens me how much faith I put in you.” he said.  Hannibal placed the towel on the counter and raised his palm to press it against Will’s cheek.  He closed his eyes and felt the warmth, the strength, the sureness, there.

              “Name a single time during our marriage that I have failed to provide for you what you need.”

              Will couldn’t help but smile at that.

              “I need a daughter?”

              “You need _this_ daughter.  And she needs you.”

              “Us.” Will corrected opening his eyes to gaze into Hannibal’s.  “Don’t you dare think that either of us would have a chance without you.”

              Hannibal leaned down and brushed a gentle kiss to Will’s lips in reassurance, and they finished getting ready.

 

              This time, Hannibal hired the most experienced family lawyer money could buy.  The five of them—the three Lecters, Mrs. Lutte, and the lawyer – sat quietly on the bench in the courtroom, waiting their turn to be heard.  Other family court cases went before them, some moving quickly, some taking over half an hour.  Throughout all of it Simone sat perfectly still.  Will was doing enough fidgeting for the both of them, until Hannibal reached out and covered the back of his hand with his palm.

              “The court will now hear the case of custody for Simone Halpert.” the judge announced, and they all rose and walked forward to stand before the judge.  He was an elderly man, much older than Judge Hawthorne.  Though he appeared tough and indiscriminate, Will could sense his wisdom and compassion underneath.  He relaxed a bit.  This judge would actually listen.

              “In the matter of Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Mr. Will Lecter, seeking permanent adoption of Simone Halpert, in petition to the State of France, the court is now prepared to hear arguments.”

              The judge looked up from the paper he’d been reading and peered down at the group before him.  He looked directly at Simone and smiled.

              “And what is your name, young lady?”

              Simone curtsied with perfect grace, bowing her head just slightly, exactly the way Hannibal had taught her.  She then lifted her face to look right into the judge’s eyes.

              “Simone Lec—Halpert, Judge.”

              Though he gave no outward indication, Will could _feel_ the pride oozing from Hannibal as she said the line _perfectly_ , exactly the way they’d rehearsed.

              “You’ve been calling yourself Simone Lecter, haven’t you.” the judge asked, his voice softening.  She let her eyes fall to the floor and softened her features, just as Will had taught her.

              “Yes, Judge.”

              “Well, today is your chance to make your request official.  I see Simone who is representing herself; who is here to represent the interest of the Lecters?”

              “Lawrence Durand, Attorney, Judge.” the lawyer said.

              “And representing the State of France in this matter?” the judge continued.

              “Martha Lutte, of Children’s Social Services, Judge.”

              “Yes, very good.” the judge said, nodding and writing some notes.  “Is there anyone to represent the parents of Miss Halpert?”

              “The biological father abandoned her several months ago, and cannot be found by authorities.” Mrs. Lutte said, her face pained. 

              “Mhmm.  And the mother?”

              “Died during Simone’s infancy.” Mrs. Lutte went on.  Will tightened his grip on Simone’s shoulder just a tad. Somehow, during all their conversations, they had never spoken about her mother.  He supposed Simone didn’t remember her.

              “Are there other relatives who have shown interest in taking care of Simone?” the judge asked.

              “No, Judge.  The Office of Children’s Social Services searched diligently for any relatives before placing Simone in foster care.  None could be found.”

              The judge nodded and made some more notes.  Will forced himself to stand as perfectly still as possible.

              “And what recommendation does the State of France make for the care of Simone Halpert?”

              “We recommend that she be legally adopted by her current foster parents, Dr. Hannibal and Mr. Will Lecter.”

              The judge nodded once more and looked down at Hannibal and Will, his eyes darting between them.

              “Please, make your case for why you feel adoption is in Simone’s best interest.”

              The lawyer nodded, and began rattling off the vast list of resources available to them, showing pictures of their well-kept home, describing the bond Simone shared with both her foster parents and the staff, detailing the home-schooled, high-end tutored education she was receiving, and reports from Mrs. Lutte that showed how Simone’s attitude and demeanor had improved over the few months she’d been living there.

              “Those are all excellent qualities.” the judge said.  “However, if Simone’s father should return, and should the reason for his absence be deemed acceptable, why should he not be permitted to become her custodian once again?”

              The lawyer then pulled out medical reports from hospitals and school nurses, detailing Simone’s various injuries over the years, and notes made by past teachers describing the holes in her clothing and frequency with which she appeared to not have had proper sleep or nutrition.

              Throughout all of it, Simone remained stock-still, her fingers tightening as she clasped her hands together.  Will squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, amazed at her bravery. 

              The judge listened through all of it, nodding and making notes.  Lastly, he tilted his head downward and looked at Simone.

              “Simone, if your father could be found, and he returned home, would you rather live with him, or with Messieurs Lecter?”

              Simone stepped forward, out of Will’s grasp, and his hand floundered until it fell uselessly at his side.

              “I would like to stay with the Lecters, please, Judge.” she said, her voice exuding _exactly_ the right mixture of vulnerability and confidence. 

              “And why is that?” the judge asked, his voice softer than when he spoke to the adults.

              “My father is mean to me.  He hurts me.  And Hannibal and Will are really nice.  They buy me new clothes and Hannibal is teaching me how to cook and Will taught me how to play chess and they’re interested in what I have to say and they gave me my very own room, and at night when I have bad dreams about my father hurting me, they wake up with me and make me tea until I feel safe.”

              There wasn’t a single adult in the room who wasn’t moved.  Will could feel the compassion coming off of every one of them; including the judge.

              “Do you mind having two fathers, and not a father and a mother?” the judge asked.

              “I don’t care if my parents are fathers or mothers, I just care if they hurt me or take care of me.” she said.

              Will’s misting eyes moved up to the judge’s face and he saw that it was moved.  He nodded and smiled down at her.

              “Thank you, for letting me know how you feel, Simone.  This case…”

              “Stop, stop right now!  I demand the right to be heard!”

              Everyone in the courtroom turned to see Andre Halpert, standing at the doors to the courtroom, clean bandages on his hands and face, clad in a hospital gown and a pair of sweatpants.

              Will’s veins turned cold and it took all the years of mask-building experience he had to not show it on his face.  His eyes darted to Hannibal whose face was _stone_ , frozen in place, and Will knew he was having the same reaction.

              The judge did not look pleased.

              “You may have a seat, and wait patiently until your case is called…”

              “This _is_ my case!  That is my daughter!  Simone, did they hurt you, are you okay?” he cried, running down the aisle towards her. 

              Her eyes grew wide and she leapt behind Will, where he wrapped his arms behind his back to hold her safely behind him.  Hannibal stepped between Will and Andre with a quickness that caught him off guard, making him halt in his rush.  His eyes travelled up his body and darted past his face, unable to look into the eyes of the man who had been torturing him for months.

              Instead, he turned to the judge.

              “Judge!  These two men are insane serial killers; they’ve kept me locked in their basement for _months_ , so they could steal my daughter!  They cut off pieces of my ear, my fingers, my knuckles…made me live on moldy bread and water while they made me watch them eat my flesh!   Then they left me to starve until I dug a hole under the bars in the cage where they had me…”

                Behind him, Will could feel Simone’s terror as she clutched her fingers tightly against his hands.  Since everyone’s attention was on her father, and not him, he risked a glance behind him.

              “Don’t speak, Simone.” he said quietly, and that was all he _could_ say.  He hoped it was enough and also, not too much.

              “They’re keeping her hostage!  Kidnapped!  Had me tied up with chains, then committed murders and framed me for them!” he cried.

              The judge stared with a deadpan face until Mr. Halpert was finished, then folded his hands tightly in front of his chin.  Will held his breath.

              “That is the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard.” the judge said.  Behind him, Will felt Simone relax, and he himself allowed some of the fear to leave his shoulders.  Hannibal always had a contingency plan for everything, and Will had to remind himself of that.  However it occurred, whatever happened, Will had faith that events always, always unfolded in Hannibal’s favor.

              Which, for the last ten years, also meant they unfolded in _Will’s_ favor.

              “Judge, I haven’t committed _any_ of the murders I’m accused of…”

              “You’re accused of murders?  More than one?” the judge said, cutting him off. 

              “Yes, but _they_ committed them!” Andre shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Hannibal and Will. 

              “Enough!” the judge cried, slamming his gavel down.  “You will face trials for each of those crimes and the courts will decide your guilt or innocence.  However, that is merely one more piece of information that has only cemented my decision in this case.  I have reviewed your skills as a parent and it is clear they are very, very lacking.  I also see that you’ve already taken several parenting classes, and your treatment of Simone has not improved.  I feel that a permanent home with the Lecters is in Simone’s best interest.  The adoption will be granted.  Hannibal and Will Lecter will have full legal custody of Simone, according to her wishes.  All rights of Mr. Andre Halpert to parent Simone are revoked.”

              With that, he slammed his gavel, and Will spun around to scoop Simone tightly into his arms.  She clung to his neck, nearly choking him, as the three of them walked passed her father, screaming as the court officers struggled to restrain him.

              When they got to the car, neither Will nor Simone desired to let go of each other, so Will crawled into the back seat with her.  She sobbed into his neck as Hannibal drove, and he stroked her hair, shushing her over and over, telling her that it would be alright.

              “He escaped!  How did he escape!  He’s going to get me, he’s going to kill me! He’s _so mad_ , did you see how mad he was?”

              “Simone, I promise you, we will not let him hurt you.” Will repeated, over and over, his eyes darting to meet Hannibal’s in the rear-view mirror.  He tried to discern Hannibal’s emotions from them, but unusually, they revealed nothing to him at all.  He turned his attention back to her, holding her tightly.  “You’re safe.” he promised again, and did not get more words out of his mouth.  The hideous crunch of metal preceded the shattering of glass that rained down on them as the car spun wildly.  Will was thrown into the car door, whacking his head, his vision blurring as he clutched Simone tightly in his arms.  The squealing of tires was followed quickly by the smell of burning rubber, and Will struggled not to vomit as the car spun for what felt like forever.

              They came to a stop with a jerk.  Will couldn’t see; the world was swimming, it was all a blur of colors.  The door he leaned against opened, his body tumbled backward, and his head hit the street.  Simone was yanked from his arms, and he heard her screaming.

              “Will!  Hannibal!  He has me!  Help me!” she cried.

              Every nerve in Will’s body reacted.  He stumbled to his feet, following the sounds of Simone’s screams, a blurry blue shape that was her dress fading in and out of his vision, getting farther and farther away.  The world tipped, and the ground was coming towards him, and then steadied.  He felt strong, sure hands catch him under his arms and pull him into a steady, solid chest.

              “Will, stand up.” Hannibal commanded. 

              “I’m trying!  Simone, I’m coming!” he cried, and he heard the sound of a car door slamming and the peal of tires.  He tried to run towards it, but Hannibal’s hands kept him in place.

              “Hannibal, let me go!” he screamed, his voice echoing off the walls of the nearby buildings.  “Simone!”

              Hannibal merely wrapped his arms tighter around Will, his mouth brushing against his ear.

              “Will, stop.”

              “Simone!  He has her, she’s in danger!”

              Hannibal tightened his grip until Will couldn’t breathe.  His vision started to go black.  Spots danced before his eyes.

              “You have a concussion.  Stop.”

              Tears streamed down his face and Will continued to struggle.  “Simone, I have to go after her, we have to go after her!  Simone, Simone…” he sobbed.

              Hannibal did not release him.  Instead, he opened his mouth, sucking the tip of Will’s ear into his mouth and bit, gently, until Will calmed.       

              “Will.  Trust me.” he said.  “Trust me, Will.”

              He stilled, sobs heaving from his chest.  Hannibal released him and he fell to his hands and knees, sobbing, his head pounding.  Hannibal didn’t leave him there for long; Will heard sirens, and he was yanked back to his feet by powerfully strong hands.

              “We have to leave.  Now.” he said.  He was guided, blinded by tears and his concussion, into some kind of vehicle that was not their car.  Hannibal started it and they pulled away from the site of the accident just in time to escape before the police sighted them.

              Hannibal drove calmly, and Will sobbed.

              “I promised her, I promised we’d keep her safe…”  
              He felt Hannibal’s infuriatingly calm hand on his cheek, wiping away a tear.  More only fell.

              “And we shall keep that promise.  You must trust me.”

              Will stilled, and rested his head against the back of the seat.  His head was throbbing, everything hurt from his shoulders up.

              “I do.” he said softly, the tears slowing, then finally ceasing.  “I trust you.”

              “Good.” Hannibal replied.  He turned a corner, and Will tried to focus.

              “Where are we going?”

              “I am following Simone’s father’s car.” Hannibal said calmly.  “They are a mere two blocks ahead of us.”

              Will let out a heavy sigh, then. 

              Of course he could trust Hannibal.

              “I love you.” he said, closing his eyes against the pain.

              “And I, you.” Hannibal replied.  Will reached up and placed his palm over the back of Hannibal’s hand, holding it tightly to his cheek.  There was no greater love than Hannibal’s, he knew.  When the man hated, he murdered, and when he loved, it was with the same level of intense fury.  Will brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them gently, then released Hannibal’s hand so he could drive.

              “There is aspirin in the glovebox.” Hannibal said, and Will stumbled to get it open, swallowing down three pills at once.

              “Did you plan this?”

              “The car accident?  Absolutely not.  I loved that Bentley.”

              Will was not in the mood for Hannibal’s sense of humor.

              “ _Any_ of it, Hannibal.”

              “I did not plan Mr. Halpert’s kidnapping of Simone, no.” he said.

              “But you _did_ plan his escape.”

              Hannibal remained silent long enough that Will grew angry.

              “I may possibly have told Mr. Halpert about the custody hearing; though I did not anticipate his escape, no.”

              “Hannibal, _why_?” Will cried, his voice cracking more than he’d intended.

              “You wanted him broken.”

              Will sighed and leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes from the raging headache.

              “Then this is my fault.”

              “Absolutely not.” Hannibal replied.  “We both underestimated his resolve.  Also, we’ve never held live prey for this long before.  He had time, and with time, many things can be accomplished.”

              Will leaned forward to rub his forehead, which was a mistake.  His hand came away with blood.

              “Oh God, I hope she’s okay.”

              “She’s fine.  She was causing a ruckus, until she peered behind her and saw me.  Now she has calmed.  She knows we are here.”

              Will relaxed further.

              “Okay.” he said.  “Okay.”

             

              They followed Mr. Halpert through city traffic for over half an hour, until they reached the apartment where he had lived with Simone.  Hannibal parked the car two blocks away, and by then, Will’s vision had cleared, though his headache was still powerful.

              Simone stepped out of the car calmly, obediently, smart enough not to even look down the block at where they had parked.  But from her demeanor, Will knew that she knew they were there.  The moment they disappeared into the building Will flew from the car, racing down the sidewalk.

              “Will!” Hannibal called after him, but he did not slow.  Hannibal stepped out of the car and hurried after him as he threw open the front door to the apartment building so hard that it hit the wall, causing an echo down the hall.

              He opened his mouth to call Simone’s name, but before he could Hannibal’s palm was crushing against his lips, firm enough to hurt, and a quiet “shhhh” was whispered into his ear.  “We do not need the police, Will.  They will already be coming, but we need every moment.”

              Will closed his eyes and nodded, grateful once again to Hannibal for keeping him grounded.  Alone, he would have been victim to his own wild emotions; irrational in his behavior to the point of self-destruction.  But with Hannibal pressed close beside him he was transformed into a calculated, devastating killer.

              They stood silently and listened. 

              “What do you mean you want to go _back_ with them?  They are _monsters_!  What is _wrong_ with you?” Andre’s voice echoed down the stairwell.  Will bolted up two at a time, racing down the hall as he heard Simone’s voice reply back, screaming through the door.

              “No, _you_ are the monster!  You hurt me and I _hate_ you!  They’re going to kill you, just you _wait_.”

              Will’s blood stilled as he stood outside the door, the way it only did just before a kill.  Simone’s faith in them surged through his heart, mixed with his fear for her safety and rage at this man who had harmed her, and gave him an incredible amount of clarity.  He’d been ready to knock in the door, but thought better of it and tried the knob.  It turned and he pushed the door open.

              Hannibal and Will both walked in calmly, silently, Hannibal closing the door softly behind them.  Simone was cowering on the floor beside the armchair where he’d first seen her, her new dress torn at the sleeve where she’d been grabbed and tried to pull away.  She was crying and holding her arm.

              Will’s eyes shifted to the beast that had hurt his little girl.  He had just long enough to be afraid before Will’s fists were flying at his head, knocking him backwards into a side table, a pile of unkempt junk clattering to the floor.   He swung back, his bandaged knuckles connecting against Will’s shoulder, though it hardly seemed to affect him.  Will snarled and raised his hands to wrap tightly around his throat.  Andre nearly got a hit in against Will’s head, but Hannibal darted behind him, restraining his wrists in his hands.

              Will glared as he gasped, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to breathe.  He stared into Will’s ferocious eyes, dried rivers of blood down the side of his face and over his forehead, his wild curls unkempt as they framed his deranged face.

              “The hours you have left on this Earth have just become very short.” Will hissed, pulling his face in close enough that he could have bitten the beast’s nose off.  The only reason he didn’t was because the infliction of pain upon his flesh now belonged to _Simone_ , and he would not deprive her of that.

              “But you will wish they were shorter.” Will spat, not releasing his fingers until Andre passed out in Hannibal’s arms. 

              The moment he stopped moving, Simone flew to her feet, her arms outstretched to the bloody, feral man who had just choked her father into unconsciousness.  Will crushed his arms around her, sweeping her up into his arms as she buried her face in his neck, sobbing.

              “I knew you would come, I knew you would, you promised, you promised and you didn’t lie.” she said, over and over.  Will’s fingers stroked through her hair as he gripped her.

              “Will, the car, if you please.” Hannibal said, leaning Mr. Halpert’s unconscious form against his knees.  Will nodded and carried Simone through the hall, grateful now that Hannibal had forced him to be quiet in the halls- none of the neighbors were out, curious. 

              He hurried down the street, the sound of faint sirens coming their way.  He didn’t know what kind of story Hannibal was going to come up with to get them out of this, but he knew their chances were better if they were gone before the police arrived.  He hurried Simone into the back seat and got in.  He was grateful now for all the cars they’d previously stolen over the years for various kills; he hot-wired it in seconds and was pulling up to the apartment building just as Hannibal appeared in the foyer.

              Will got out and helped Hannibal move their prey as they’d done probably fifty times by now, each with one of his arms draped over his shoulder, making the appearance almost that he was drunk and they were helpful friends.  They sat him in the passenger seat, and Hannibal got behind the wheel as Will once again pulled Simone into his lap.

              Hannibal drove at an _infuriatingly_ regular speed, obeying all speed limits and traffic laws, and that was why he was in charge, Will reminded himself.  The police cars passed them going in the other direction, sirens blaring, no doubt guessing that Mr. Halpert might try to take Simone back to their apartment.

              They hadn’t gone four blocks before Andre started to come to, stirring with a groan.  Simone tensed against Will’s side.  Hannibal’s elbow flicked up to crash against their passenger’s temple, knocking him out again without a single swerve to the car, and Simone relaxed again.

              “He’s going to die now, isn’t he?”

              “Yes.” Will and Hannibal said in unison, Will’s voice carrying rage, Hannibal’s, icy calm.

             

              They pulled up to the kill house where they’d kept him prisoner, no doubt for maximum psychological effect.  Hannibal yanked open the passenger door, tossing Mr. Halpert over his shoulder like he weighed nothing, and Will held Simone’s hand tightly as the three of them walked along the well-worn dirt path that led to the cellar door.

              They worked wordlessly, both knowing their respective jobs like a well-oiled machine.  Will bound his wrists uncomfortably tightly with chains, allowing his anger to show just a hair as he watched the metal slice through the fragile skin.  They put the meat hook around the chain and both yanked until he was high enough to be seated on a chair.

               Will held the rope while Hannibal pushed the blood-covered wooden chair under the body, and Will let go, the unconscious man crashing down into it.  They both worked to tie his legs to the legs of the chair.  Bruises from Will’s pummeling were already forming on his cheeks and eyes, along with the shape of Will’s fingers around his throat.

              “Do you think he’ll wake up?” Simone asked, her voice timid and afraid.  Hannibal crouched beside her, a head shorter than her, and pulled her hands into his.

              “Do you want him to?” he asked.  “I will make happen whatever you wish to happen.”

              Will’s affection for Hannibal brewed deep within his gut and started to override his fury and rage.  They had the situation under control, now.  The danger was gone. 

              His hatred wasn’t.

              Simone’s eyes grew hard and she set her jaw.

              “I want him to be awake when I kill him.”

              “Then he shall.” Hannibal said.  He rose and walked over to his medical kit, where he pulled out a syringe and filled it in the light over the worktable.  He injected it into Mr. Halpert’s neck, and within seconds he was stirring.

              He opened his eyes to see Simone standing before him in her torn blue dress, flanked by Will and Hannibal on either side of her.  He jerked awake as he saw them, terror crossing his features.  He tried to stand up, finding his legs bound, his arms suspended above his head.

              “It’s no fun being the scared one, is it?” Simone said, her voice suddenly dark and cold, the tone she used just before she was about to kill.

              “Simone, you don’t really want to hurt me, right?” he said, still only interested in saving his own skin.

              She took a few steps forward, not a single hair of hesitation.  A cold, wide smile spread across her face, making her appear absolutely unhinged.  Yet her bodily motions were completely in control.  She stopped a mere six inches from him.

              “You know, it felt really, _really_ good to watch Will punch you the way you used to hit me.” she said.

              At the realization that Simone was not on his side, Andre’s eyes grew wide and terrified.

              “You know what they are.” he whispered.  She grinned.

              “Oh, they didn’t tell you?  I’m one of them.”       

              He jerked back then, shaking his head violently, the last few months having removed most of the fight from him.

              “They’ve corrupted you, you’re so sweet, and gentle…”

              “Then why would you _beat me_?” she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls.  “Why would you scream at me _every day_ , come home late and drunk, shouting how I’ve ruined your life, how I’m such a burden to you?!  Why?  _Why_?!”

              Guilt flickered over his face between the fear.

              “I..I don’t know, I’m sorry, Simone.  I’ll do better.  Free me, untie me, I’ll get us out of here, we’ll go to the police, they won’t arrest you, you don’t know what you’ve done.”

              Her hand flew forward and she punched him square on the cheek, hard enough that his face jerked to the side.  At the contact she broke and swung again, then again, hitting his eyes, breaking his nose.

              “How’s that feel, huh?  Want me to break your arm, too?  Do you know my arm still hurts when it rains?  Do you know it hurts if I draw too long?  And _when_ it hurts, _Hannibal_ puts a heating pad on it, and gives me _medicine_ to make me _better!_   Will holds me when I cry and wipes my tears away, instead of making them fall!  They are the best fathers I’ve ever had!”

              She stopped, wiping the tears from her face with her bloody fists, smearing his blood across her face.  He fought to straighten his face and look into her eyes, thinking that of the three people in this basement, she was his best way out.

              “They are not your fathers, Simone… _I’m_ your father, I took care of you when you were a baby, fed you, changed you, bought you clothes…”

              Her hands flew out and clasped around his throat.  She pressed her thumbs in hard, though even then didn’t quite have the strength to cut off his air supply completely.  He gasped, coughing and managing to get in a few wheezing breaths.

              “Dad?” she said, and his eyes darted down to meet her face.

              “Not you.” she spat.  She turned her face over her shoulder to look at Will.  “Dad, can I have your knife?”

              Light sprang from Will’s heart and directly to his eyes.  He fought back the tears, knowing he had to keep a strong face, but was unable to hide how deeply he was moved. 

              “Of course.” he said, once he felt he had command of his voice, reaching into his back pocket where he always, always kept his knife.  “You can have anything.”

              He opened it and held it out to her, her eyes rising to meet his.  In them he saw her anger, masking her pain, but behind that, saw her vulnerability; her trust in him, the way Hannibal looked at him.  With love.

              Her fingers clasped around the knife, her left hand still pressing against Andre’s windpipe.  She turned and carefully removed her own hand before pressing the blade firmly against his neck.

              “Do you know how many throats I have slit, imagining it was you?” she whispered.  At the realization that she was speaking the absolute truth, Andre’s eyes grew wide with terror. 

              “This is your last moment.” she said.  “I want you to know that it was _me_ who ended you.  Now say goodbye.”

              He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t allow him.  Her hand didn’t hesitate, the flick of her arm quick, sure, and deep.  He didn’t make a sound, the blade having sliced cleanly through his windpipe and left artery, his blood spraying over her face, shoulders, chest, and down to pour over the folds in her dress.

              “I hate you.” she said softly, stepping back to plunge the knife into his chest.  Because of her practice, she didn’t hesitate and was able to get enough force to push the blade between his ribs, and because of her anatomy lessons, was able to strike his heart.  His struggling stilled immediately, his head lolling back.

              “I felt his pulse disappear.” she said.  She stepped back, wiping her arm along her forehead to brush some of the blood from her eyes.  Will handed her a clean towel and she wiped her face for a moment, before peering up at Hannibal, then to him.

              “Did I do well?” she asked.

              “Excellently, darling.” Hannibal said, and then Will let his tears fall, a shaky smile on his face.

              “I’ve never been prouder.” he said.  She smiled up at him from her blood-covered face, and he pulled her into a tight hug, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

              “Welcome to the family, Simone.” Hannibal said, allowing a smile to show on his own face.

 

* * *

 

              “Thank you again, for inviting me to dinner.” Mrs. Lutte said as she sat beside Simone at the Lecters’ dinner table.

              “It was the least we could do, considering all you’ve done to help us build this family.” Hannibal said, gracefully cutting a piece of pork and savoring it as he placed it in his mouth.

              “Oh, I was just doing my job.” she said humbly.  “It certainly didn’t deserve a meal as delicious as this.”

              “You can thank Simone for that.” Will said, and Mrs. Lutte turned to look at Simone with surprise.  The girl smiled brightly up at her, her eyes shining in a way the social worker had never seen. 

              “She’s becoming quite an accomplished chef.  She chose these cuts of meat herself.” Hannibal said.

              “My goodness, it is lovely to see your talents bloom.” Mrs. Lutte said, putting a piece of meat into her own mouth and smiling with how delicious it was.  “How is your schooling going, Simone?”

              “Just wonderful.” she said.  “In the fall, I’m going to be enrolled in the best school in Paris.” she said proudly. 

              “Oh, that’s wonderful, dear.” Mrs. Lutte said.  “You won’t be staying with your tutors, then?”

              She shook her head enthusiastically, though her manners otherwise remained impeccable, down to the way she held her silverware. 

              “I want to make friends.” she said.  “I’ve never had any, and now I have a new chance.”

              “That sounds lovely.” she said, her eyes lifting to connect with Will’s.  It was easy to see the joy on his face, and it made Mrs. Lutte’s heart glow with warmth that one of her charges truly had such a happy change in her life.

              Mrs. Lutte’s face became more serious then, and she put down her fork beside her plate.

              “Simone, I want to apologize to you, for not removing you from your father’s home sooner.”

              Simone put down her own utensils as well, pulling Mrs. Lutte’s hand into hers. 

              “You tried everything you could!  You got me away from him lots of times; it was the courts who made me go back, and then that judge who wouldn’t let me get adopted, but we…”

              Will froze and Hannibal gave her a look stern enough to freeze a volcano.  She caught herself.

              “…got lucky the second time, and you never gave up fighting for me.”

              Mrs. Lutte smiled down at her, Will’s shoulders relaxed, and Hannibal resumed chewing.

              “I just feel awful about what the three of you went through, being kidnapped by that maniac, and then him driving you all into the river, barely surviving, and then they never even found the body, knowing he could still be out there…”

              “It’s okay, Mrs. Lutte.” Simone said, squeezing her hand. “I know that my fathers will keep me safe.”

              After dinner, Simone took her lecture from Hannibal about being careful when she spoke with dignity.  She still hugged him tightly before she went up to bed, though she requested Will be the one to tuck her in, this night. 

              “I didn’t _mean_ to slip up at dinner.” she said, guilt showing on her face.  “It just felt _so good_ , watching Mrs. Lutte _eat him_ …”

              “I know.” Will said, reaching up to stroke her hair.  “We’re only looking out for you.  If you had slipped, we’d have to kill Mrs. Lutte, and none of us wants that to happen.”

              She leaned forward and gave Will a crushing hug, pressing her cheek against his chest.

              “I know, Dad.”

              His heart glowed like it was on fire.

              He pulled the blankets up to her chin and pressed a kiss to her forehead, shutting off the light as he softly shut the door.  He walked down the hall to their bedroom, where he was swept into Hannibal’s arms and pinned to the bed, face-up.

              “Never have I seen such a glow in your cheeks.” Hannibal purred into his ear, his fingers working quickly to unbutton their way down Will’s shirt.  They made passionate, if nearly silent love, the emotional turmoil of the last two days coming out in their devotion to each other, until Will was left undone, laid bare in Hannibal’s arms, held as tightly and as safe as he hoped Simone felt in his.

              “You have given me a family when I thought I would never have one.” Will whispered softly into his cheek.  He felt Hannibal’s mouth turn upwards against his face, his fingers coming up to comb through his hair.

              “I understand that sentiment.” he replied.  “I was certain, after I lost the family I was born to, that I would never find my place among others again.”

              Will curled into him, entwining their bodies together, nuzzling his face into Hannibal’s neck.

              “I would be nothing without you.” he whispered.  “Instead, you’ve made of me a husband and a father.”

              “As you have done for me, Will.” Hannibal said, stroking his fingers through Will’s curls, placing gentle kisses to his temple, his voice soft and vulnerable.  They lay together, entwined and whole; Will’s monster freed by Hannibal, Hannibal’s humanity made alive again by Will, together a perfect balance that made them both indestructible and free.


End file.
